BLURRED LINES
by Rosepddle010
Summary: A/U-No Walkers. Summay: What happens when special agent Michonne Prescott comes to King County in need of an officer to go deep undercover with her?
1. Chapter 1

BLURRED LINES

 **Summary: A/U, No Walkers.** What will happen when Federal Agent Michonne Prescott comes to King County in need of an officer to go deep undercover with her?

Rick Grimes sits at his desk, trying to reacquaint himself with his surroundings. His first day back after a 30 day suspension—without pay—is proving to be a bit unsettling. He had been looking forward to returning to work, getting away from his empty house. Now, being here doesn't feel right either. He looks across the room at the office that used to be his. The letters on the door now read: Kings County Sheriff Shane Walsh. Interim position until election, but still, it'll never say Rick Grimes again. He doesn't know how he feels about that.

The door to the office opens and Shane walks out. The two other deputies and the secretary out in the small bullpen with Rick pretend to be engrossed in work. No way are they watching the impending interaction between the new sheriff and the former. Shane strolls right up to Rick's desk.

" _Deputy_ ," Shane says, putting an extra emphasis on the word to drive home the fact that Rick has been demoted. "Settlin' in?"

Rick leans back in his chair, folds his arms over his chest. The last week or so of his suspension he used to control his anger, to be less reactive and more proactive. But there is something about looking at Shane's smug face that makes Rick want to smash it all over again. Instead he says, "How's the eye?"

Shane's grin drops off his face. The damage Rick did to Shane's left eye socket won't be permanent, but it will take a long ass time to fully heal. At least that gives him some satisfaction. Before Shane can respond, the main door opens and Carl walks in. He pauses. Looks between his dad and Shane.

"Hey dad, everything okay?"

"Yeah." Rick stands.

"Hey, Carl," Shane says. "How's it goin'?"

Carl completely ignores Shane.

"What brings you by?" Rick pulls Carl into a hug.

"Brought you lunch." Carl smiles. "Didn't think you'd remember. Then you'd end up getting something greasy and unhealthy."

Rick takes the brown paper bag, opens it, sees two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. "Thanks."

"Listen," Shane begins. "Carl, we need to work this out. The hostility is—"

Rick steps in front of Carl, gets in Shane's face. "Don't address my boy." Tension fills the small sheriff's department. All pretenses of work by the other deputies and secretary stop.

"We need to work through this, Rick," Shane says, meeting Rick's eyes. "Stop playin' the victim for five seconds and see that this is happenin'. Ain't nothin' you can do about it." Shane spreads his arms, a nearly imperceptible smirk on his face. Anyone who didn't know Shane as well as Rick wouldn't have noticed the taunting expression. "We can make this transition smooth for everybody involved. I'm with Lori now. Accept it. I'll be stepfather to your kids and—"

Rick grabs a handful of Shane's uniform shirt, yanks him forward.

"Dad, _don't_ ," Carl yells.

Before Rick can further shatter Shane's left eye socket the station door opens again. Two people walk in. One is a hulking man with red hair and beard. He wears dark shades a black t-shirt and jeans. The person with him is a slim woman, dark skin, mirrored sunshades and dark brown dreadlocks pulled back into a tight bun. She wears a white button-down shirt and navy slacks.

They both pull off their shades. The big redhead says, "We interrupting something?"

Rick releases Shane with a thrust. Shane smooths out his uniform, composes himself and addresses the two strangers.

"What can I do for you two?"

The big guy flips out a billfold, flashes a badge and identification. "I'm special agent Ford. This is my partner, special agent Prescott."

The woman doesn't bother showing her badge. Her eyes lock on Rick's and never leave. He watches her too, feeling something like dè-jà vu. But he knows that isn't right. He's never met her before. He'd remember.

Staring at him, into him, special agent Prescott says, "We need to speak with Rick Grimes."

"Um..." Shane begins, "I'm in charge. Not _Deputy_ Grimes. I'm the sheriff now."

She looks at Shane and Rick releases a breath he's been holding since their eyes met. "I didn't ask to speak with the person in charge, did I?" Her eyes lock on Rick's again. "You're Grimes, right?" She doesn't wait for an answer. "Let's talk in here." She heads for the sheriff's office, Shane's office.

"Hang on, now. You can't just walk in here and—"

"We appreciate your cooperation," she says as she stands by the door to his office and waits for Rick to precede her inside.

"Dad?" Carl steps forward.

"It's fine," Rick says. "We're just gonna talk for a bit. I'll be out in a few."

The big red-head brings up the rear, closing the door once they are all inside. He then lowers the blinds, giving them full privacy. Rick is beyond curious. A part of him is nervous. Did Shane or Lori actually press charges against him for beating Shane half to death? Is Shane just pretending not to know why the FEDs are here to question him? Naw, he thinks. Attacking one of his deputies would be investigated by the state police, not the FEDs.

He takes a deep breath, relaxes a little. "What can I do for ya'll?" He leans against his— _Shane's_ —desk and folds his arms over his chest.

The two agents stand side by side, studying Rick. The woman, agent Prescott, angles her head to the side. The guy, agent Ford seems to be made of granite as he glares at Rick like Rick has personally offended him.

"I don't know," agent Prescott says. "He could work."

"He certainly looks like shit today," Ford says. "Good to know he's not always as pretty as his profile picture."

"What the fuck is going on?" Rick says, coming up off the desk.

Prescott stretches her arm forward, palm out. "I apologize, deputy. We're being rude."

Rick leans against the desk again, watches this woman, wondering why she is so damn captivating.

"We need your help. Agent Ford and I are a part of a special taskforce set up to take down a notorious biker gang. Have you heard of The Walking Dead?"

"Yeah. I thought they were a northern thang. New York, DC, places like that."

"They are," she says. "But they're branching out."

"Spreading like a damn ass-rash, more like," Ford says.

"Branches of them have popped up as far south as Fannin county, Union and Gilmer. It won't be long before they're knocking on your door."

"So how can I help?" Rick asks.

Agent Prescott sighs. "We had an in, a way to go undercover in the one of the newest branches established in northern Georgia, but…"

"I went and got myself made," Ford finishes for his partner. "Cover blown wide as a hooker's asshole. As you might expect, we don't have a large supply of agents who can pass for a biker. Not to mention the need to be familiar with Georgia and is okay graying the lines of the law."

Rick pinches the bridge of his nose. "Again, I ask, how can _I_ help?"

Agent Prescott steps forward. "We need you to go undercover with me."

For a split second Rick nearly says he'll go anywhere, do anything she wants him to do. He shakes his head, hoping to jar his brain back into place.

"To what end?" Rick asks.

Ford answers with a question. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, what are you tryin' to achieve with this undercover mission?"

Prescott nods and gives an approving smile. Inexplicably, Rick swells a little with pride that he has pleased her. _What is going on with me?_

"We have solid intel that the head of TWD is here, in this state, and always has been. Cut the head off the king and the empire crumbles."

Rick nods, but still doesn't understand how they came to look for him. "Why me?"

At this, agent Prescott, folds her arms over her chest, cocks her head to the side, and regards him. "I've studied the files of nearly seventy officers in the mid-to-southern Georgia region and to be honest, yours was the only one with potential."

"I find that hard to believe," Rick says. "I can't be the best officer out of all those men and women."

"I didn't say you were the best." She smiles and Rick nearly forgets how to think. He swallows and looks at the floor. _Get it together, Grimes._

Prescott continues. "Your file had the most incidents of violent infractions. It almost read like a rap sheet. Nine incidents of excessive force…"

Rick spreads his arms wide, palms up. "Some people need to get punched."

"Seven incidents of discharging your weapon, two with fatal outcomes…"

He shrugs. "Some people need to get shot."

Ford belts out a laugh. "I like this guy. He's perfect."

"I'll be the judge of that," Prescott says.

"I haven't agreed to anythang," Rick says. "Don't see why I should."

Agent Prescott looks at him with a frown. Rick almost changes his mind. This woman is seriously fucking with his mind. He knows nothing about her, but he feels like the last thing in the world he'd want to do is disappoint her.

When she speaks, her voice is soft and low. "Have you ever seen a town once The Walking Dead have come through?"

Rick shakes his head.

"Businesses that have been open for generations are closed. The ones that aren't burned to the ground or looted, simply close because they are too afraid to remain open. Incidents of violent crime spike at an astronomical rate. They leave nothing in their wake but death and destruction." She glances over her shoulder at the closed door. "That was your son out there?"

Rick nods.

"What is he, fifteen, sixteen?"

"Fourteen."

"Freshman in high school?"

Again, Rick nods. He doesn't like where this is going.

"I think the saddest thing of all is when TWD infiltrates the schools. The kids they don't turn into junkies, they turn into pushers. You don't want your son on either side of that equation, do you?"

"My son is smart." Rick glares. Not so enthralled with her just now. Never use his kids to make a point. "Carl's smarter than most kids his age. Smarter than most people twice his age. He won't sell drugs or use them."

"Then he'll be dead."

Rick comes up off the desk. Agent Ford steps forward, but agent Prescott doesn't move or blink. "My partner and I have tracked this gang," she says. "We know The Walking Dead. I'm not telling you these things to piss you off. I'm telling you what I know. What I've seen, time and time again. You use for them, sell for them, or they kill you. It doesn't matter that he's fourteen. You can wait until this gang makes its way this far south, but by then, it will be too late. I promise you that. No matter how much of a Billy-bad-ass you are you will lose against them."

Rick clenches his jaw, begins to pace. He knows she is right, but this is excessive. He'd be a fool, a lying fool if he said this didn't scare the shit out of him. He stops pacing and turns to agent Prescott. "You two understand this won't work, right? I can't go undercover in this state. I was sheriff here. Yeah, King County is small, rural, but I'm known. I don't get up to Fannin, Union or Gilmer much, but people travel. All we'd need is one person from here to see me and my cover is blown just like his was." Rick gestures to Ford.

"We don't want you to become someone else," agent Ford says.

"What?"

Agent Prescott smiles again and Rick is right back to that urge to promise her anything. "On paper, deputy, you read like someone who might be one step away from saying fuck all this and becoming a complete degenerate."

Rick snorts without humor. "Is that right? Good to know."

"Look," she continues, "I don't know you. You could be the salt of the earth, the most honorable person to ever walk upright. The fact of the matter is, looking at your file, it wouldn't be hard for anyone to believe that you got yourself fired, said fuck the police, and took up with a biker gang. That's why I wanted to meet you in person. My gut would tell me if you really were a loose cannon or someone who would work well with me."

He meets her eyes. "And?"

"And my gut is telling me that you and I will work well together."

He feels warm all over, even though he knows she doesn't mean it how he wants her to mean it. Still, there is something bothering him. "So,"—he begins to pace again—"You want me to get myself fired, then make it seem like I've gone on some kind of downward spiral where I toss out everything I believe in and take up with a biker gang?"

"Yes," she says. "And no one can know the truth."

"Nobody's gonna believe that."

Agent Prescott watches him for a long moment. She's weighing something. It's crazy, but Rick feels like he can already understand this woman's expressions, or lack thereof, and he's known her for a whopping twenty minutes.

"You've recently come back from a 30 day suspension, right?"

"How'd you know about that?"

"We're the FBI, remember."

"Yeah, I've just come back. So what of it?"

She reaches out and almost touches his forearm, but seems to change her mind at the last minute and lets her arm drop. "The new sheriff—"

"Interim," Rick interrupts.

She inclines her head. "Of course. The interim sheriff is sleeping with your wife."

"How the fuck—"

Agent Prescott hold up her hands to halt him. "I'm good at my job, deputy. My point is you put that man out there in the hospital, didn't you? He's been sleeping with your wife and smiling in your face, day in, day out. You mean to tell me that it would be _so_ unbelievable for you to do something to get yourself fired then do a complete 180 and embrace the dark side? Cause from where I sit, it seems perfectly plausible."

Rick is fuming. How the hell had she found out about Shane and Lori. She's right, though. It won't be so far-fetched. That scares him. There has always been something that keeps him from fully embracing the darkness inside of him. It's his kids and it used to be Lori too. Now she might just be the catalyst. The reason for his downfall. No. He could never do that to Carl, to Judith. But he can make them think so. He begins pacing again. He is not the type of man to stand by and wait for trouble to knock at his door. He would never forgive himself if this gang, this Walking Dead, showed up in his town, gets Carl hooked on drugs, or makes him sell them…or worse.

He turns to the two agents. "Okay. I'm in…under one condition."

"No conditions," Ford says.

Prescott puts a hand on her partners arm. "Let's hear him out."

"I'll do this. Get myself fired, make everybody believe that I've turned into a total fuck up…if I can tell my son the truth."

"No," both agents say at the same time.

"Then no deal." Rick sits on the corner of the desk like he doesn't have a care in the world.

"No one outside of this room gets to know the truth," Prescott says.

"I get it, but if you want me to turn my back on everything I believe in…I don't just believe in the law, I love the law. I've raised that boy out there to respect the law, respect others. I walk the walk so he can walk the walk. I will not make him think the one person in his life who has never lied to him, 'cause his mother sure as shit—never mind that." He bites down hard like he needs to literally chew the vile words he wants to speak about Lori and swallow them. "I won't let him go for weeks, months, or however long this thang lasts thinkin' I lied to him all of his life about who I am, who I want him to be. And then, when it's all over, tell him, 'no son, I wasn't lyin' to you all your life, I was just lyin' to you these last few weeks'. No. Not gonna happen. Find somebody else or let me tell my boy. Truthfully, he'll take one look at me know I'm full of shit. So tell him now, or worry about him poppin' up somewhere we don't want him to be. He's gonna figure it out."

There's a long moment of silence. The agents glance at each other and then Prescott jerks her head down in a quick yes. "I have to meet him, talk to him," she says. "I need to make sure he gets the seriousness of this case."

"Not a problem." Rick stands. "So I just need to go out here and get myself fired, right?"

"Yeah," Prescott says. "Think you can handle that?"

This time it's Rick's turn to smile. Prescott seems to stumble backward as if she trips over an invisible object. He wants to think it was a reaction to him, but it happens so quickly that he isn't sure he saw what he thinks he saw.

He licks his lips and gets back to the subject at hand. "Can I shoot him?"

"No!" Prescott looks at him like he is insane.

Ford bursts out laughing. "I think I love this guy!"

"Wasn't talkin' bout killin' him, just a flesh wound," Rick says.

"I cannot authorize you discharging your firearm. Hand it over if you can't control yourself."

"I'm fine." Rick strides over to the door, pauses to stretch his neck side to side, roll his shoulders. He yanks open the door and makes a beeline for his former best friend. "SHANE! You motherfucker! You called the FEDs on me? Can't take a beatin' like a man?"

Shane looks genuinely shocked and a little terrified as Rick closes in on him. Before Shane can deny the accusation, Rick's fist slams into Shane's left eye. Rick lands five blows before Shane can even raise his hands to fight back.

"Dad! Don't!" Rick hears the panic in Carl's voice and it nearly stops him in his tracks. But…the bigger picture.

Rick shoves Shane away from him, rears back and kicks Shane in the balls so hard the other man doubles over and vomits. Rick leans over Shane and his puddle of sick, and whispers, "Good luck fucking my wife tonight."

Rick doesn't get a chance to land another blow. Agent Ford grabs him, holds him. Prescott has Carl by the arm, holding him, but not forcefully. She says, "Sheriff, are you okay?"

Shane, spits a few times on the floor and manages to stand. He looks at Rick like he is a complete stranger. Kind of like Rick feels he must've looked when he found out about Shane and Lori.

"That's it. You're done. I forgave the first time, but no more."

"You can't do this," Carl shouts. "Don't fire him. He needs this job."

Shane hobbles over, stops in front of Rick. "Ain't my fault, Carl. Be mad at your father." He disarms Rick, unloads the gun and places it on the nearby desk. "I didn't call the FEDs on you," Shane says.

"Yeah," Ford says. "We told him the accusation didn't come from you, but he doesn't believe us."

"What accusation," Shane asks.

"That's classified." Ford sounds like he might laugh, like he doesn't even believe the bullshit he's spouting. "We'll take him home, let him cooldown before he comes back to get his things." He frog-walks Rick out the station.

They head to a black Explorer parked at the curb. Ford shoves Rick into the back seat. Prescott, holds the door open for Carl to climb in with his dad. When they drive away, and turn the corner. Rick pulls a visibly upset Carl to him.

"Dad, are you getting locked up?" His eyes glisten with unshed tears. "You can't arrest him," he says to the agents. "He's…he's just been through a lot lately. He—"

"We're not arresting him," agent Prescott cuts in.

"Carl," Rick says. "We have to talk."


	2. Chapter 2

**BLURRED LINES**

 **AN:** _I cannot believe the response to this story! I love reading all the reviews! Thank you so much to all the readers and those who made me or this story their favorite. I hope you all enjoy this chapter. Please leave a review, they make me so happy! lol_

 **Chapter 2**

"Make a left at the crossroads," Rick says. "Go down a mile and pull into the Douglas farm. They lost it a few months back so it's empty."

Carl is quiet now, like he knows he won't get his questions answered until they reach their destination. Agent Ford makes a left onto the dirt road of the Douglas farm. Rick directs him into the barn. Ford stops the car and turns off the ignition. Both agents turn to face the occupants in the backseat, sunglasses are back on now. It's quite intimidating, Rick admits to himself.

"Hi," agent Prescott says to Carl. "I'm Michonne, and—"

" _Michonne_ ," Rick whispers. He isn't aware that he said her name out loud until all eyes are on him. "What?" He looks at both agents, glances at his son.

"Yes, what?" Michonne says. "You said my name, so…?"

Rick instantly feels heat flush his face. "Did I? Oh, I um…it's just an unusual name."

"Smooth," Ford says as he opens the SUV's door and climbs out. The rest follow suit.

Michonne closes her door and leans against it. "As I was saying, my name is Michonne, special agent Prescott, if you like. We have asked your father to work with us to bring down a violent gang called The Walking Dead." She waits, slips the sunshades off, tucks them into the front of her shirt then meets Carl's eyes. "That scene back there at the station was just that, a scene."

"Not all of it," Rick mumbles.

Michonne glances at him, then back to Carl. "We plan to go in, your father and I, and bring down this gang, once for all. Your father agreed to this under one condition, you get to know." Agent Prescott looks like she is still not completely on board with this, but Rick doesn't care. He means what he said back at the station. Carl knows all or they can find a new cop to help.

Michonne continues. "I need to stress to you how vital it is that you not let on about any part of this mission."

"I wouldn't." Carl looks at Rick, then back to Michonne. "I swear."

"You say that now, but you have to understand, your father is not going to be acting like your father."

Carl's brows draw together. "How do you mean?"

"I mean, he'll be gone a lot. And when he is here, he'll be drinking a lot, or pretending to be. I'll be with him, like his girlfriend."

That's news to Rick. This time though, he keeps his thoughts to himself.

"If you aren't used to your dad being with a woman who isn't your mother, you may not like it. There will be talk around town about him. Your friends and neighbors will have lots to say about his actions. Your mother will have lots to say about his actions. You have to let them. You can join in with the horde of people who may trash talk your dad. You can defend him. But what you cannot do is tell people your dad is simply acting a part to infiltrate a gang, that he is undercover."

"I wouldn't," Carl says with wide eyes.

"Hear me when I say this, Carl. Anything you say, even to your best friend, to your pastor, to your mom… could get your dad killed."

"Hey now," Rick interjects. "No need for the scared-straight program. He gets it."

"There is a need, because if you get killed, chances are I get killed too. And I like living." She focuses on Carl again. "Any questions? Ask whatever you want. I'll answer and I never lie."

Rick can see that Carl doubts her. This just makes him angry with Lori all over again. He's fourteen and the one woman who should teach him how to trust, how to respect women has shattered that for him.

Carl folds his arms over his chest and glares at agent Prescott. "How long?"

"I don't know."

He sighs. "That's not helpful."

"It's not helpful, but it's what I got," she says. "It could be a few weeks, it could be a few months. I don't anticipate it taking longer than six months or so, but I never say never. What else you wanna know?"

"I don't know," Carl says, frustration evident in his voice. "You spring this on me and I've got a million questions, but I can't think of any right now! I just know I don't like this."

"Let's start there," Michonne says. Rick is amazed by how unflappable she is. By now, most people would be annoyed by the teen attitude, but agent Prescott only looks curious. "What don't you like about this?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Maybe, but tell me anyway. Pretend for a minute that I'm not smart."

"Maybe it's not pretend."

"Carl!"

He glances at his dad, then at agent Prescott. Her expression hasn't changed. Carl lowers his eyes to the ground. "Sorry."

"Say what you want to say to me, Carl. I'll let you know when you've crossed the line."

"You'll punch me in the face or something?"

She flashes her teeth in a bright smile and damn if it doesn't threaten to buckle Rick's knees. "I'll leave the punching to your father. He's good at it. Tell me what you don't like."

Carl thinks for a moment. "I don't like that I'm not going to be able to see him every day. And you can't even tell me how long he'll be gone."

"I can give you a burner phone for you to call your dad _only_. Call anytime you want. What else?"

Carl is taken aback by this. Rick is too. He is growing more impressed with this Michonne woman the more she speaks.

"I don't like that my dad will be in danger."

She takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. "See this big guy behind me? He doesn't look smart, but he is." If agent Ford has any objections to her comment, he doesn't voice them. "I've been told I'm smart too. From what I read about your father, he doesn't seem to be growing cobwebs in the brain. It's our job to be three or more steps ahead of the criminals we are trying to bring down. If that doesn't work, Abraham—agent Ford—is a former Army Ranger and a sniper. He will have constant eyes on us. Your father and I won't be alone on the inside. There will be a few other agents watching our backs and an entire squad on the outside surveilling us. I can't promise no one will get hurt, but I gather it's a promise your dad hasn't been able to make either."

"No," Carl says. "He doesn't make that promise to me. Just that he'll be careful and do everything he can to come home to me, to us."

"I still make that promise to you, Carl," Rick says.

"We good to go?" Michonne asks.

Carl nods. "For now, I guess."

"Good. Let's go."

The next morning, Rick is awakened by his cell phone. Because he is still half asleep, he answers without looking to see who it is.

"Finally!" Lori screeches into the phone. "What are you doing, Rick? You get yourself fired. You attack Shane, for no reason, and you ignore my calls! Is this how it's gonna be?" She waits. Rick is silent, still trying to wake up. "So you have nothing to say for yourself? And you do this in front of Carl? What kind of example are you setting for him?"

Rick opens his mouth to argue back, try to defend himself…but that's what old Rick would do. This new Rick, this fired, downward spiral Rick has to be different. He sighs and says, "Lori…"

"What?"

"Go fuck yourself." He hangs up before she can respond, before she can probably comprehend what he has just said. Wow, he thinks, that felt good.

The next time his phone rings it's agent Prescott… _Michonne_. He likes her name, likes saying it. It fits her. Exotic, beautiful and mysterious. He tries it out just to see if she will require him to call her agent Prescott when they aren't on duty.

"Michonne, what can I do for you?"

"Meet me at 420 Kinsington Ave at 2pm."

"Kinsington? I'm not familiar with that street."

"It's about twenty minutes outside of Union. About an hour from you."

Rick looks at the clock on the nightstand. "I'll be there."

He ends the call and heads to the bathroom. After his shower, he is about to shave when he decides not to. Clean shaven bikers aren't the norm. His five o'clock shadow is looking more like a ten o'clock shadow. He grows a beard in record time so it shouldn't take long to start to look scruffy. Unfortunately, he just got a haircut for his first day back to work. That shouldn't take long to grow out either.

At his closet, Rick grabs a pair of old black jeans he usually wears when he's working on the car or around the house. They are well worn. He throws on a denim button down shirt, slips on his watch and twists off his wedding ring. He stops and stares at the silver ring on his dresser, stares at the tan line on his finger. Taking off his ring is about more than this undercover job. He's not delusional enough to believe he would be taking it off so soon if it wasn't for the mission. But it feels right. He would wallow, overanalyze the reasons Lori felt the need to go elsewhere, go to Shane, if he didn't need to focus on this case. And that's what he's going to do. He heads out to meet Michonne.

Rick pulls up in front of a janky old auto shop. His first thought is that he is at the wrong place, but Michonne is standing outside of the service bay. He gets out of his car and lifts a hand in greeting. She nods in return. Her clothing looks a lot like what she had on yesterday. White button-down shirt and dark slacks. Her hair is pulled back in a low bun at the back of her neck. The mirrored shades are back. He knows that law enforcement trick. If people can't see your eyes then they can't read you.

Rick isn't sure how he should act around her. Shake her hand? Hug her? Why the hell would he hug her? He chastises himself for even thinking something so stupid. She waits patiently for him to approach. Or, at least he thinks she is waiting patiently. He can't see her eyes.

"Hey," she says, when he reaches her. "Come inside."

Rick follows her through the rundown auto shop. Cars, beyond repair, sit in the bay area. Greasy parts clutter every available shelf and the place smells like motor oil and cheeseburgers. At the very back of the shop an office sits with a wall-length window so dirty the filth acts a curtain. To the left of the office is a man. He is crouched, red rag in hand, polishing the chrome of a very nice motorcycle. Michonne takes her foot and taps the dude on his backside. He jumps up, whirls around with a wrench in his hand.

"You're slipping," Michonne says.

"Heard you the minute you stepped inside," the guy replies.

She pulls off her sunshades and smiles at this guy in a way that makes Rick feel a pang of jealousy. "Yeah, right. I've been outside for twenty minutes. Did you hear that?"

He smirks, grabs her wrist and yanks her into his arms.

"No!" Michonne screeches. Before Rick can step in and beat this guy to death, it registers that she is laughing. "You're filthy!"

The guy is ridiculously dirty. Grease and black smudges streaked his arms, face and even his oily hair. He wears a sleeveless shirt that may have been white at the beginning of its life, but will never see white again. Over that he has on a black leather vest with wings on the back.

Michonne pushed him away. Her white shirt is now splotched with dirt. When they stop smiling at each other they seem to remember Rick. He feels like a jackass, standing there with his hands in his pockets waiting to be acknowledged.

"Who's the pretty boy?"

Rick glares at this dirty asshole. He's the second person to call him pretty in as many days.

"This is Rick Grimes, the deputy I told you about." Michonne gives Rick her attention, _finally_ , he thinks. "Rick this is my brother, Daryl."

Rick takes in the greasy white guy and the beautiful black woman. "I see the family resemblance."

Daryl glares. "Damn right you do." He turns to Michonne. "Talk to mom lately?"

Michonne opens her mouth to answer.

"Before you lie, I just got off the phone with her fifteen minutes ago so I know you haven't."

"I wasn't going to lie. I've been busy. Ever since Abe got himself made. I've had to scramble to find a replacement. I haven't had a minute."

"Got one now. Go in the office and call her."

They stare at each other, communicating something Rick isn't privy to. At first he thought Michonne just called this guy her brother because maybe he is her best friend. Now, he is beginning to wonder if they actually are siblings.

"Fine," Michonne says, giving in. "Let me get my bag out of the car so I can change, then I'll call her." She walks back toward the service bay and calls over her shoulder. "He needs a bike, Daryl. Give him a good one too. No bullshit. I'll be riding on the back of it."

Daryl sucks his teeth at her bossy command. "You even ride?" He looks Rick up and down.

"Yeah," Rick answers. He's trying to suss this guy out. Friend or foe? He's not sure.

"You any good?"

"Good, not great."

"Hmph. You gonna be ridin' my sister around you better be great."

"I'm not racing or performing stunts." Rick shrugs, cocks his head to the side. "I can handle it. I've known your sister for a day and a half and I already know she doesn't make decisions lightly. She chose me for a reason. If you have a problem with that, take it up with her."

Daryl stares at Rick for a beat then lifts a grimy shoulder. "Aight."

Michonne returns with a red duffle bag. "You get him a bike yet?"

"Do you see a bike?" Daryl says.

"I don't have time for your shit, Dump. I've gotta meet Abe in an hour."

Daryl's face reddens. "Don't call me, Dump," he says through gritted teeth.

Michonne is all smiles as she says, "Get him a bike. Please… _Daryl_."

Rick doesn't know what's going on, but he knows two things. First, these two _are_ siblings, or as close as. No one can annoy you like a family member. And second, there is a story behind the nickname, Dump. Michonne steps into the office and closes the door. She is completely shrouded by the grime on the window, but he watches her silhouette until Daryl gets his attention.

Rick follows the other man to a door off to the right side of the office. He would've completely missed the door it was so blended with the dirt and overall grayness of the wall. Daryl pulls a key off his hip and unlocks the door. Inside, Rick is astounded to see a pristine showroom full of vintage and sleek new motorcycles. Two rows of maybe twenty or so bikes divide the room. Okay, so Rick is beginning to see what's going on here. The dirt and dilapidation of the front area is just a deterrent. But a deterrent from what?

Daryl walks the center aisle, looking left to right. Rick follows, watches as Daryl turns to him but continues to walk, just backwards now. He looks at Rick then looks at a motorcycle as he keeps moving down the line. Nearly at the end, Daryl stops. He looks left, then right. Both bikes are vintage. Rick doesn't know the make and model of either. He's not really into all that stuff, but he learned to ride in the academy. The only thing he can distinguish about the bikes is one has those high handlebars they call ape hangers and the other one doesn't. They stand there for what seems like forever while Daryl looks at Rick then at the bike on the left. Looks at Rick then looks at the bike on the right.

From behind him he hears Michonne's soft voice. "Not the ape hangers."

Rick turns and nearly chokes on his own tongue. She has completely transformed herself. Her hair is down. The dreads are swept to the side and hang well past her shoulders. She has swapped out the white business shirt for a black leather corset that cinches her waist to nearly nothing. The dark slacks have been replaced by low, _very_ low rider boot-cut jeans. The jeans are frayed in all the right places. On her feet are what Rick assumes are high-heeled boots. She's taller now. Fully eye to eye with him.

She moves past him and he follows with his eyes. _Son-of-a-bitch!_ The back of her is almost better than the front. Rick's mouth is dry and he thinks someone is talking to him, but damn if he can make his brain work. A thump on his arm jars him from his disturbing thoughts. He glares at Daryl.

"Think you can stop eye-bangin' my sister's ass long enough to get on that bike?"

Rick has the decency not to argue. He's been caught, nothing to do but walk over and straddle the bike. He finds it hard to meet Michonne's eyes, but when he does, she is smirking at him.

"Sorry," he mumbles for her ears only.

"Don't worry about it. Just lets me know we're off to a good start."

He doesn't know what she means by that, but he leaves it alone for now. The motorcycle feels comfortable. He's ridden ones like this before so he knows how it should handle. Still, he wants some time with it to get adjusted.

"That's a Harley Heritage Softail," Daryl says. "High output twin cam engine. Electronic throttle and—"

"I'm gonna stop you right there, little brother," Michonne says. "Nobody cares."

He glares at her for a second. "He's gonna need to know this stuff. Those Walking Dead assholes don't know a lot about bikes, but they know the bike they ride."

Michonne nods. "Come by his place tomorrow afternoon for the _tutorial_." She climbs on the back of the motorcycle. "Bring my car and my clothes to my hotel, please. Can you get somebody to follow you in Rick's car to drop it off at his place? I'll text you his address."

"Yeah, yeah," Daryl says. "Did you call mom?"

"Yes," she says and even though she's behind him, Rick can practically hear her roll her eyes. Then she reaches out and places a hand on her brother's chest. "I'm going to go see her tomorrow morning. I miss her. I know it doesn't seem like it, but I do."

Daryl leans over and kisses her on the cheek. "Yeah, I know." He tosses Rick the keys. Michonne slides her arms around Rick's waist as he starts the engine. Daryl jogs to the end of the garage to roll up the manual door.

Rick looks over his shoulder at Michonne. "Where to?" he shouts over the roaring engine.

She presses her lips to his ear. "Your place."

He feels that right down to his groin. This is going to be trouble. He knows it, but he is in it until the end. He flips up the kickstand with the heel of his boot and rolls out of the garage with Michonne holding him around the waist. It's gonna be a long ride home.


	3. Chapter 3

**BLURRED LINES**

A/N: Again, I'd like to thank all of my readers, followers, favorites and reviewers! I am still in shock to the response to this story, but I am having a great time writing it. I hope you all enjoy this next part. Please leave a review and let me know what you think!

 **Chapter 3**

Rick manages to scale the hour long drive down to forty minutes. The bike rides like a dream. He hasn't been on one in more than two years, but it all comes back to him. Habit and training makes him want a helmet, if not for him, then certainly for Michonne. Her long, lean arms hold snugly to his waist, but not too tightly. He likes the feel of it.

As he passes the sign reading, 'Welcome to King County' he makes a decision. Instead of heading left at the railroad crossing, he makes a right and heads toward town. Rick slows as he rides down Main Street, giving ample time to see and be seen. Those out doing their late afternoon shopping stop and stare at the couple on the motorcycle. Some recognize him. Others he isn't so sure. But what he has no doubt about is that all of them look at Michonne. She commands attention. The corset, the jeans, the body…even the blind would notice her. He smiles as he sees Lori's friend, Sara, step out of her shop. Rick lifts a hand, waves, and is rewarded with her shocked expression. A small—well, not so small—part of him hopes this gets back to Lori and Shane. _Shit_. He realizes his mistake but it's too late. He increases his speed and makes a left at the end of Main. He hurries the rest of way to his country house on the outskirts of town.

Rick rolls the motorcycle to a stop in front of his house. Michonne swings her leg over and dismounts. He sits there for a moment after he shuts down the engine. "I'm sorry," he says.

Michonne cocks her head to the side and looks at him. He likes when she does that. "What for, your little parade through town?"

"Yeah. It was stupid."

"How so?"

"Shane. He knows you're a FED."

"So what. Was he out on the street back there?"

"No." Rick climbs off the bike. "But my wife's best friend was. She'll tell Lori. Lori'll tell Shane." He pinches the bridge of his nose. He can't believe he was so stupid. The case isn't even in full swing and he's already making mistakes.

"What's she going to tell your wife, she saw you ride through town on a motorcycle with a gorgeous black woman on the back?" She smiles wide at that, showing vividly white teeth. "Even if Shane does see us together, what of it? I'm a FED, but I can't have a personal life? I can't have met you yesterday and become instantly attracted to you? One thing couldn't have led to another and we began dating? None of that seems plausible to you?"

Rick desperately wants to ask if any of that is true, especially the part about her instant attraction, but he keeps his mouth shut.

"Listen," she says, "The sheriff shouldn't be a problem. We aren't going to be in King County all that often. When we are here, you won't be with any gang members, if we do this right, so it should just look like hooking up with me brought out a wild side of you. For all Shane knows, I could be a dirty agent. We can play that card if we need to. Don't sweat it."

Rick heads up the walkway toward the front door. "You have this all figured out."

"It can be easy if you let it."

"You think so?"

"I told your son I never lie," she says. "But that was a lie."

He stops and turns to her. "What?"

"I lie all the time, Rick. Just not when I'm federal agent Michonne Prescott. Never in my real life. When I'm undercover, lying is part of the game. Being good at lying is a gift and I'm damn gifted. But…well, it eats away at you. So I am always honest in my personal life."

"Good to know."

"My point is, I'm not worried about Sheriff Walsh because I can come up with a lie to explain my relationship with you."

Rick nods. As he opens his front door, agent Ford pulls up in a black SUV. He jumps out and gathers two black duffle bags from the back.

"Let's get this party started," he says as he breezes past Rick and Michonne and walks right into the house like he owns it.

Rick gestures for Michonne to go before him. It is second nature for him to be a gentleman, it's how he was raised. So when he lets her go in front of him, it isn't with the intent to look at her ass, but his eyes have a mind of their own. And good Lord she is exquisitely made.

She stops in the living room of the farm house and looks around. "This is nice. Homey."

"It was my parents' house. They left it to me."

"I'm sorry. How long have they been gone?"

"Oh no." Rick chuckles. "They aren't dead. They live in Florida now. Although my dad calls Florida, heaven's waiting room." He smiles, missing his parents. "The house was on the market, but…when I called, told them about Lori…that she threw me out…they made me take the house." He shrugs. "Ain't have nowhere else to go, so I took them up on their offer." He rubs the back of his neck, wonders why he felt the need to tell her all of that. Without saying another word, he walks into the kitchen to join Abraham.

The other man has emptied the contents of the duffel bags on the hand-carved kitchen table—guns, knives, binoculars, radios and all sorts of other gadgets Rick has no idea about. Rick walks over to the counter by the sink and leans against it, watching Michonne and Abraham catalog the items.

"Why so many knives?" he asks. He's never seen law enforcement actually use knives as part of their work, but this is undercover so…

"She likes stabbing people," Abraham jerks his head toward Michonne.

"I don't like it…I'm just good at it."

"That you are," Abraham says. He holds up a clear square about the size of a nicotine patch, turns and shows it to Rick. "GPS tracker. It's waterproof, sweat-proof and should stay on until you remove it. Stick it somewhere that doesn't bend and won't be seen. Back of your thigh, inner thigh…figure it out." He tosses it to Rick and sits one out for Michonne. "I'll sync this right before you two head back up to Union."

He goes over the rest of the equipment, more so for Rick's benefit. Just as Abraham finishes his inventory, there's a knock at the door. Rick goes to answer it, ignoring a call from Lori on his cell. Daryl is on the other side of the door. He doesn't seem to want to come inside. Gestures for Rick to follow him out front and gives him a brief overview of Rick's motorcycle.

When he's done Daryl says, "Look up the rest. But that should get you soundin' like you know what you're talkin' bout."

"Okay," Rick says. "Come inside. Have a beer."

Daryl eyes him warily for a moment. "My sister in there?"

Rick nods and Daryl steps inside. Rick still doesn't quite know what to think about this guy. He's skittish and seems uncomfortable with himself. And then he steps into the same space as Michonne and settles. If Rick hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn't have believed it. Daryl's fidgeting stops and he even looks like he's going to smile as he talks with his sister. Rick goes to the fridge, ignoring another call from Lori as he does, and retrieves four Stone IPA beers. He hands them out and resumes his position against the counter by the sink. The group discuss things that have nothing to do with the mission or Rick. Again, his phone vibrates in this back pocket. He pulls it out, sees Lori's name and ignores it.

Michonne finally sips her beer, looks at the bottle then at Rick. "This is good," she says.

Rick nods. "Yeah, it's my favorite." He watches as Michonne walks toward him. She doesn't stop until she is right in his face, up against him, his leg between her legs. She presses her lips to his. Rick drops his beer.

"Shit." He grabs a dishtowel and sops up the beer, picks up the glass. All talking in the room has stopped. Rick looks up at Michonne who is staring down on him with a slight smile on her lips. Abraham and Daryl glare at him.

Rick stands when he is finished cleaning the floor. "That was a test, wasn't it?"

Michonne arches a brow in response.

"Yeah, it was," Abraham says. "And you failed."

Michonne approaches him again, places her hand on his chest and brushes her lips against his. After a few seconds she pulls back and looks at him like she's waiting for Rick to do something. He doesn't know what to do. He knows what he _wants_ to do, grab her and shove his tongue in her mouth, but that seems wrong. Uncomfortable. It's been a long time for him. It doesn't help that his back pocket is buzzing again. No doubt it's Lori. Rick's hand brushes Michonne's arm, rests at her elbow as he leans in and presses his lips to hers. The kiss, if you want to call it that, lasts three seconds before Michonne backs away from him.

She pinches the bridge of her nose. "I don't know if this is going to work."

"It has to," Abraham says. "We don't have time to find somebody else."

"Yeah, well, it can't be forced," she says.

Rick grits his teeth. He feels like a jackass. His desire to throw her on the floor and have his way with her wars with this engrained nature to respect her.

"Listen," agent Ford begins again. "You've gotta get past whatever block you have in your head right now. In two days you need to make a bar full of misogynistic shit-tards believe that she belongs to you. In every way possible."

Rick places his hands on his hips, nods. "I got it."

"Do you?" Abraham asks. "Cause this is important. Hear me when I say that I love this woman." He points a strong finger at Michonne.

"Oh," Rick says. "I didn't know you two were…"

Abraham looks at Rick like he's the dumbest man alive. "We're not. She's my partner. That means she's closer to me than my own mama. Than my fiancé…but don't tell her I said that. At times she's been a mother, a sister, a daughter and a best friend to me. And even though I can recognize she is a beautiful woman I really only see a sister, mother, daughter and best friend. But then…there are times when the job requires me to touch her, look at her, interact with her the like sun itself shines from the crack of her sweet chocolate ass."

"That's my cue," Daryl say. He walks out the kitchen and straight out the front door.

"You leave too, Abe," Michonne says. "Go get the paper work we need him to sign. I left it in my hotel room. Come back in an hour."

Agent Ford raises a ginger eyebrow. "You sure? He needs to be comfortable touching you in front of other people."

Rick has had just about had enough of them talking about him like he's not here.

"I know, but give me some time alone with him."

Abraham nods, eyes Rick and then walks out of the kitchen. When they hear the front door open and close, Michonne gestures for Rick to have a seat. He doesn't take her directive immediately. He's annoyed, embarrassed and just a bit nervous. Instead of sitting, he goes to the fridge and grabs another beer, then takes a seat at the kitchen table. Michonne watches him for a few moments then walks over and sits on his lap. Rick draws in a breath, holds it. Is she going to kiss him again? He tries to prepare, not make a complete fool of himself again, but she doesn't kiss him. She just sits on his lap and sips her beer. Rick picks up his beer and takes a swallow, wondering what's happening.

"Let's have a conversation," Michonne finally says. "I'm going to sit on your lap until you are used to being close to me. We'll just talk."

Rick nods. "Talk 'bout what?"

"Anything but the job."

"Okay." He shifts in the chair, leans against the back. Michonne drapes an arm over his shoulder, runs her fingers through his hair. He has to close his eyes briefly at the feeling it arouses in him. She seems so at ease, like she does this all the time. He doesn't like that thought. He doesn't want to think of her on some other man's lap, touching him—for real or pretend. But he puts those thoughts aside. He needs to get comfortable with her and soon.

Rick slides an arm around her small waist. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"What's the story with you and your brother?"

"How do you mean?"

He looks at her. She seems genuinely confused and then she smiles wide. "You mean you don't buy that we are biologically related?" She clutches her chest. "I'm shocked."

"If I hadn't seen you two interact I wouldn't believe that you'd even associate with each other, least of all be related."

"Yeah. Daryl is a unique one." She takes a breath and another sip of her beer. Rick wonders if this is going to be a hard story to tell. Maybe he shouldn't have asked. But then the corner of her mouth lifts in a crooked smile and she gets a far off look in her eyes. "I met Daryl when I was six, he was nine."

"I thought he was your little brother."

"No. He was just so malnourished when I met him that he seemed younger…and it annoys the hell out of him when I call him that. Like a true baby sister, I live to annoy him. Anyway, I used to walk home from school by myself." She glances at him. "It was a different time then, you know?"

"Yeah." Rick rests his chin on her shoulder and is shocked by how soft her skin is.

"I'd take the woods behind my school for the five minute walk home. I first saw him rummaging through the dumpster for food. He was filthy, scrawny and looked feral. So I ran from him even though he wasn't chasing me." She chuckles to herself. "Then one day some older kids were in the woods trying to start fires. They saw me and thought it would be funny to throw matches at me. I was so scared. Honestly, there were probably only three boys, but in my mind there were twenty surrounding me. And then Daryl was there, beating them up." She shakes her head. "He's beaten up a lot of guys for me since then. But that day, when he was done punching the lights out of those boys, he yelled at me. 'What are you stupid or somethin'. Ain't 'posed to walk through the woods by yourself. Don't you know nothin'?' I was so shocked he was yelling at me that I said the first thing that came to mind. 'Yeah, well, I know not to eat out the dumpster!'"

"Is that why you call him Dump?"

"No. God, no. That would be awful. That nickname has an entirely different backstory. He'll have to tell you that himself." She pauses, takes a swallow of the beer. "After I said that to him, I cried all the way home. Not because of those idiot boys, but because when I said something about eating out the dumpster, he looked like he was going to cry. I didn't understand why he was eating out the dumpster, but I knew it wasn't because he wanted to. And so I felt bad. That night, my six year old mind came up with a way to help him. I went to my mom and told her that I was still so very hungry after I ate my lunch so could she please pack me two sandwiches, two apples, two milks and two packs of cookies?"

Rick chuckles. "Did she buy that?"

"Would you?"

"Not for a minute."

"Right. My mother was having no parts of that lie. She thought I was being bullied. I convinced her I wasn't, just really hungry so we compromised and she made me an extra sandwich. I gave it and the rest of my lunch to Daryl every day. He became my best friend." She takes a breath, lets it out slowly. "I had lost my dad six months before I met Daryl."

"I'm sorry." Rick adjusts her on his lap and nuzzles her smooth shoulder with his cheek.

"Thank you. But when you lose a parent at a young age, kids treat you differently. Almost like the death you suffered is contagious. Admittedly, I was not the best to be around. I cried for no reason, had fits of anger and just didn't want to be bothered most of the time. Daryl didn't know about my dad so when I cried for no reason he just thought I was a crazy girl, which was fine with him. He was crazy too. He'd walk me home, sleep in the woods behind our house and I'd sneak him food. That lasted for about a month…and then my mom found out. Long story short, she ended up fostering him."

"Where were his parents?" His lips brush the space between her shoulder blades as he wraps both arms around her waist. He's so comfortable now. It seems like they've done this many times before.

"The story about Daryl's parents is his to tell."

"Okay. Fair enough."

"We lived like happy dorks for three years then Daryl went missing for two weeks just as my mother was going to adopt him."

"Missing? Where'd he go?"

"His brother…Merle." She practically snarls his name. "A complete degenerate. Had the audacity to think he could contest the adoption. He snatched Daryl from school one day. My mom was out of her mind. Two weeks later the cops found him in a crack house, hiding in a corner, half-starved. That idiot Merle thought the courts would actually give him custody of his brother over letting him live with black people."

Rick snorts without humor. "Where's Merle now?"

"After being a plague on our lives for years, he went and got himself murdered when Daryl was eighteen. I know this is horrible to say, even to think, but Merle dying was the best thing to happen to my brother. Daryl just couldn't say no to him, or when he did, he felt so guilty he ended up doing something destructive. Merle had a way of making Daryl feel like everything he wanted out of life was stupid. It was stupid to like reading. It was stupid to love me and mom. It was stupid to want to join the military." She sighs and shakes her head. "When Merle died, Daryl got to live."

They are quiet for several long moments. At some point during her story, Michonne had leaned back against Rick. His hands are clasped at her waist and his chin rests on her shoulder. She finishes her beer.

Rick drains his and says, "Your turn."

Michonne twists slightly to see his face. "My turn for what?"

"To ask me a question…continue our conversation," he grumbles in her ear.

"Oh." She sits up, but not before a shiver runs through her body. She scoots to the side and drapes her arm over his shoulder, runs her fingers through his hair again. "How long has it been?"

"What?"

"How long has it been since you've touched a woman who wasn't your wife?"

"Oh, that." He gives a shy smile.

"Yeah, that."

Rick chews his bottom lip, tries to ignore her fingers dragging across his scalp. "Sixteen years." For some reason he feels embarrassed by that admission. Still, he keeps talking, getting more personal with each word. "That's a long time right, sixteen years? Full disclosure, I haven't even been allowed to touch her since she found out she was pregnant with our daughter…so that's going on three years…three years since I've had my hands on any woman."

" _Okay_. So this might be more difficult than I anticipated." She laughs and it's a light breathy sound that Rick likes very much.

"Yeah, it might. I'm just not used to groping or manhandling women. It's not how I was raised."

"Who said you had to grope me?" She scoots down his thigh, toward his knee so she can look him full in the face.

"I'm supposed to be possessive, right? Stake my claim, let it be known you belong to me, right?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean groping. What do you think when you see a man grabbing a woman's ass, or shoving his tongue down her throat in public?"

"I think he's insecure."

"Exactly." She smiles. "You know there are ways to make everyone in the room know which woman is yours without even laying a finger on her. And if you do lay a finger on her it doesn't have to be crude or overtly sexual, but everyone will know you two have seen, touched, and tasted every inch of each other."

Rick finds it hard to breath, swallow or blink.

"We are acting, Rick. Giving a performance. Just like actors, we can kiss, we can touch, but when we are here, or where we'll be staying in Union that's where the performance ends." She slides off his lap, looks down at him. "You good with that?"

Rick stares up at her with his mouth open. He feels like he's been put under a spell. He wants to shake himself like a dog so he can snap out of it, but that would be too obvious. Instead he scrubs his hands over his face. "I'm good with that."

"Good." She grins, holds out her hand for his. "Now take me out to dinner and let's put this to the test."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Rick takes Michonne to King's Pizza, a family restaurant that he used to go to all the time with Lori and the kids. The place is full, but not overly crowded. Rick knows this is going to be an experience. Good or bad remains to be determined. The owner is in tonight. Rick smiles at his friend as the other man approaches.

"T-Dog," Rick says, shaking the hand of the broad-shouldered black man. T-Dog's eyes are on Michonne.

Rick begins his introductions. "This is—"

"Emm," Michonne interrupts, taking T-Dog's hand. Rick is confused by the shortened name, but plays it off. "Where's your restroom?"

T-Dog only stares at her with his mouth open like a dying fish on land. Rick takes the liberty to point out the restrooms for Michonne and the two men watch her weave her way through the restaurant. They aren't the only ones staring. When she is out of sight, T-Dog's brain seems to reengage.

He looks at Rick, brows drawn together, almost like he's angry. "I heard you and Lori split, but I thought, no way that's true, and if it is, they'll find their way back together."

Rick shakes his head. "Naw. It's over."

"I see! I don't know how true that whole, once you go black you don't go back thing is, but once you go to _that_ …to _her_ …ain't no going back." He slaps Rick on the shoulder. "You're done, son. Stick a fork in you, man. It's over." T-Dog's laughter makes Rick chuckle too. "I mean, _daaamn_. I couldn't even talk. Did you see that?"

"Yeah, I saw. You made a great first impression."

T-Dog shakes his head. "Embarrassing. But can you blame me?"

"Not one bit."

"And that's all you, man? You can handle all that?"

"I'm doing my best." Rick is completely amused by T-Dog's reaction to Michonne. "Can we have the booth all the way in the back?"

"Man you can sit anywhere you want. I thought you were my hero when you stopped that idiot from robbing this place. But I have a new found respect for you."

Rick walks away shaking his head. Michonne joins him in the horseshoe shaped booth, sliding to the center right next to him.

"Does this happen everywhere you go?" Rick asks after Daisy, the waitress, leaves with their order of a large pepperoni and two beers.

"What?"

"People stare. Men, women, children…pets."

She laughs as she sips the beer, Daisy—who stares at Michonne, but not in a good way—drops off in record speed. "No. It doesn't happen to me everywhere I go."

"I bet it does, you just don't notice."

She leans into him, presses her lips to his ear. "I'm a federal agent. I notice everything." She smiles at him. Rick knows she whispered in his ear to make it seem like they are having an intimate conversation, but he still liked it.

"Why'd you introduce yourself as just _M_ back there?"

"When we head up north, my name is going to be Emma. But _you_ call me Emm. That should make it easier for you to remember since you can think of it as just calling me by my first initial. We'll go over our backstory when we get back your house."

Michonne was right, what she said back at the house. He doesn't have to grope her to make everyone believe he is with her in every sense of the word. His arm is draped around her shoulders. He runs his fingers up and down the silky skin on her arm. They lean into each other to speak. They look into each other's eyes like no one else is in the room. The waitress has to clear her throat three times before they stop staring at one another. Rick nearly explodes in his pants when Michonne wipes pizza sauce off the corner of his bottom lip then sucks it from her thumb. People notice the way they interact. Heads turn. Women glare or snicker. Men ogle or smirk. Heads come together to whisper about the former sheriff and the new woman in his life. Rick can practically hear them. This is not how he would have ever chosen to get over Lori's betrayal, but it's working. He's beginning to feel less of failure, less devastated.

When Michonne picks up another slice, Rick gapes at her.

" _Whart_?" she asks around a mouthful of pizza.

"That's your fifth slice. Where does it go?" he gestures to her thin frame.

"To my ass."

Rick belts out a laugh.

Michonne puts the slice down and regards him with her head cocked to the side and smile on her face. "You should do that more often."

"What?"

"Laugh. A genuine one, I mean."

He shrugs. "Haven't had much to laugh about." They sit silently while Michonne finishes her final slice. The waitress brings the check and sits it in front of Michonne. She looks up at Daisy and smiles. The other woman glares. Rick reaches over and slides the check toward himself, watching the silent confrontation going on between the two women.

"I'm going to the restroom," Michonne says and plants a kiss at the corner of Rick's mouth. Her eyes lock with the waitress' again, but she's talking to Rick. "Make sure you leave her a good tip, babe. She was very friendly and attentive."

The waitress shoots daggers from her eyes as Michonne scoots out of the booth and strolls to the bathroom. Rick shakes his head. The games women play. He knows the people in this town and Daisy, has always been nice. He doesn't know if this is some sort of sister-solidarity with Lori or if it's just plan jealousy of Michonne. He hands Daisy the cash.

"Keep the change."

"Thank you."

"And Daisy," Rick says as she's about to walk away, "if you're ever rude to my girlfriend again, I'll have a talk with T-Dog."

Her cheeks flame. She looks down at the floor. "Sorry, Sherif—Mr. Grimes."

As Rick exits the booth and makes his way toward the front of the restaurant he sees Carl at the counter, picking up a carryout pizza. He's wearing Rick's old Sheriff's hat. It makes Rick smile, but it's a sad one. He misses Carl and Judith. He's not used to not seeing them every day.

"Dad." Carl looks surprised and slightly uncomfortable to see Rick.

He pulls his son into a hug. "You okay?"

"Um…yeah."

Rick notices Carl's eyes search the pizza place. "She's in the bathroom."

Carl nods, looks even more uncomfortable.

Then Rick knows what the problem is. "Your mom is outside, right?"

"Yeah."

"I thought you were okay with this," Rick whispers. "You knew this was a part of it."

"Yeah. I know. It's just…she's been saying stuff."

"What stuff?" Rick is instantly annoyed that Lori would have the audacity to badmouth him to his son. "Never mind. Don't tell me and if I ever ask you again, remind me what I said just now. I don't want you in the middle of this. I don't want you to feel you have to choose sides. No matter how I feel about your mother, I know she loves you and Judith more than anythang."

Carl nods, seemingly unable to speak.

"Why you wearin' my hat?"

The younger boy shrugs. "Makes me feel like you're with me, I guess."

Rick pulls Carl into another hug. God, he misses this boy.

"Plus," Carl says when they break apart, "it annoys Mom and Shane." He grins.

Rick matches his son's grin, but it doesn't last long. "I'm leavin' tomorrow. Don't know when I'll be back. Come by the house after school, get the phone promised to you and some other thangs. Okay?"

Carl bites his lip and nods sadly.

Rick sighs and gestures toward the door. "Let's go get this over with." He allows Carl to head out the door first with pizza box in hand. It's dark outside now. Lori is parked across the street. He doesn't think she noticed the motorcycle and put it together that it might be his, but the minute she spots him, she is out of the car and striding toward him. There is little to no wind out tonight, but somehow what breeze is out there catches Lori's long hair. He wonders if righteous indignation is what's whipping her hair this way and that. He still recognizes that Lori is a beautiful woman, but it's been so long since he's looked at her and seen only beauty. More times than not he sees her disappointment, resentment, frustration and hints of loathing on her face. And since he found out about Shane, all he sees is his former best friend's face when he looks at her. That could take the glow of beauty off anyone's face.

"Get in the car, Carl," she barks.

"But mom—"

"Now!"

"It's okay," Rick says to Carl and the boy crosses the street then climbs in the car with his little sister.

"You have some nerve, Rick." She glares at him. Rick waits patiently. "I know you don't want to talk to me, and you have every right to be angry with me, but—"

"Thank you for givin' me permission to feel my feelin's."

She talks over him. "You don't have a right to ignore me. Anything could be wrong with our kids."

"Was there?"

"That's not the point!"

"Okay," Rick says, shifting his weight onto his other leg. "Let's make that the point."

"What?"

"You don't call me unless it has to do with the kids. And I don't mean Judith's growin' outta her clothes. Text me that and I'll take care of it. But when I look at my phone and see your name on the screen it better damn well be important."

She shakes her head. "I want this to be civil, Rick. It's been over a month. We have to move past this, get to a place where we can talk things out. You're so…so angry and—"

"I'm not the only one angry, Lori, but I'm the only one who has a right to be angry. Not only that, I _am_ movin' on. I _have_ moved on. You're the one constantly ringin' my phone. Call Shane if you need somethin'. He's gonna be _stepfather_ to my kids, right? So why won't you just leave me alone."

Her mouth hangs open. "Stepfather? Who…that's not…" She sighs, runs her fingers through her hair. "Rick, I don't know what's going to happen with me and Shane. I…this is all so…"

Rick holds up a hand. "It doesn't matter what's gonna happen with you and Shane. Nothin's gonna happen with _you_ and _me_. Ever again. I just wanna see my kids whenever I want. I—"

"Sara said she saw you riding through town with some… _woman_ on a motorcycle."

Rick puts both hands on his hips and looks up at the sky, begging for patience. Lori looks at the motorcycle and then her eyes land on something behind Rick. As if on cue, Michonne steps out of the restaurant and softly says his name. He turns only his head to look behind him, then back at Lori. He watches Lori take in Michonne from head to toe. He sees the flash of hurt in her eyes and it makes him close his own eyes. No matter what Lori thinks of him, no matter what she has done, he has never wanted to hurt her. But just as quickly as her hurt shows, it dissipates and morphs into anger.

"Really, Rick? _This_?" she bites out. " _Her_?" Rick is momentarily worried for Lori. He doesn't know Michonne well, but she doesn't look like a woman who takes well to being called ' _this'_.

Michonne doesn't react, however. She walks in between Rick and Lori, runs her hand over Rick's stubble and heads for the motorcycle. She straddles the bike, one long leg stretched out, high-heeled boot resting on the curb.

"You done here, Rick?"

Before he can answer, Lori says, "No, he isn't."

"He looks done," Michonne says in a soft voice that doesn't seem antagonistic in the least, but somehow manages to antagonize the hell out of Lori.

"This has nothing to do with you! You're just a…just a… _distraction_."

Michonne doesn't blink. "Maybe. Probably. But let me ask you a question because as I see it, you had one of two reasons for doing what you did and continuing to act as you are."

Lori whirls around and snarls at Rick. "You told her what happened between us?"

Rick puts on wide-eyed innocence. "I'm sorry, was it a secret?"

"Reason, one," Michonne says, bringing Lori and Rick back to her point. "You wanted Rick's attention. Pretty messed up way to get it, but it's effective. Or reason two, you genuinely fell in love with this other guy. So, which is it?"

"That is none of your business!"

"True," Michonne says, her tone as sweet as sugar. "Like you said, I am probably temporary. But you see, he isn't. Rick is a permanent person in your life and I think he deserves the truth. Because if it's reason number one, well you got his attention and then some. The problem is, it didn't seem to go as you may have planned. He isn't throwing pebbles at your window. He isn't leaving you sad messages on your phone. He's moving on." She gestures to herself like a pageant girl shows off a gown. "So you should move on as well. And if it's reason two, well then…you love this other guy, go be with him. Live happily ever after and give Rick as chance to do the same…unless…well, there _is_ also a third reason."

Rick finds himself eager to hear what this third reason is. So far Michonne has been so damn logical that she has rendered Lori speechless.

"I'd hate to think," Michonne begins again, "that you'd want to have your cake and eat it too. No. That can't be possible. You couldn't have wanted to play these two friends against each other. Make them fight it out over you. I know life in these small towns can get boring, but that is just…well…" She shakes her head sadly. "Even if that is something you did— _which I'm sure it isn't_ —you got what you wanted. They fought over you. You win. Therefore, no matter which reason you have—one, two, or three—the only solution is to move on." She nods, agreeing with herself. "So like I said, you two are done here."

Lori, who looks like she's been conked on the head by something heavy, snaps out of her stupor at Michonne's last words. "We are not done until I say we are. This has nothing—"

"Rick," Michonne's voice is still saccharine sweet. "I'm getting sleepy. And you know what _doesn't_ happen when I'm sleep."

Rick doesn't hesitate. He walks over, climbs on the bike, and starts the engine.

Lori takes a step forward. "Don't you dare leave before—"

"She's gettin' sleepy…there's some stuff and thangs she won't do if she's sleepy. I _need_ those thangs to get done." He smirks at Lori's expression and hates himself a little for enjoying giving her a taste of her own medicine. He waves at Carl, who has been watching the entire exchange through the car window, and rips down the road on the motorcycle, back to his home.


	5. Chapter 5

**BLURRED LINES**

 **A/N:** Again, I have to say thanks to all the readers, followers, favorites and reviewers. You guys inspire me so much. This is my longest chapter yet. I hope you continue to enjoy this story. Also, to my dear Midnights-AM-Child, not sure why the summary in all caps gave you pause, but I'm glad you gave me and my story a shot. And just in case there are others out there who made an about-face when they saw the all-caps summary...I have changed it. :-)

 **Chapter—5**

Michonne is silent as they walk in the house. The mood changed somewhere once they turned off Main Street. Rick had become quiet, distant. At first she couldn't tell. Riding on the back of the motorcycle made it hard to read his mood, but she'd felt it. Once they'd pulled up at the house, though, she was sure. Rick didn't speak as he climbed off the bike and walked inside. Now, he is in the kitchen, popping the cap off a beer.

Michonne stands at the kitchen door, watching him. He's a good looking man. She really couldn't take her eyes off him the first time they met. The file photo, although Abraham called him pretty, didn't really do him justice. She recognized his attractiveness in the photo, but he was too clean-cut, too innocent looking. The man she met yesterday, however, had life behind his eyes. Pain. And somehow that made him beautiful. She didn't want to think of him like that though.

"Did I overstep?"

Rick leans against the counter, sips his beer. "No. She needed to hear what you said. So did I."

Michonne nods. There's something more bothering him. She debates whether to delve deeper. This isn't required for the mission, but she is inexplicably interested in this complex man. So she asks the question that may very well be overstepping.

"Why haven't you been allowed to touch her in almost three years?"

He snorts. "I was wonderin' when you were gonna to get 'round to that."

Michonne shifts, moves to the fridge and grabs a beer for herself. "If it's too personal, you don't have to answer." She sits at the kitchen table and waits while Rick seems to decide whether to talk or not.

"I was a little misleadin' with the three years." He sits across from her at the table. "There was a time when Lori was about eight months pregnant where we got together. Then once more, the first time Judith slept through the night for seven nights straight." He drains his beer, goes and gets another one then flops back in the kitchen chair. "Got close about nine months ago, but it didn't happen." He glances at her, looks embarrassed. "How pathetic is it that I remember the exact times I did and _didn't_ have sex with my wife?"

"It's not pathetic," Michonne says. "I'd remember too. It makes sense."

"Does it? Because I can't make heads or tails out of it. She just didn't want me to touch her. Told me she wasn't sexual anymore. Told me she lost all her drive when she got pregnant, which was ironic because when she was pregnant with Carl we couldn't keep our hands off each other. It was all we could do to wait those six weeks after Carl was born. So I don't know what happened…"

Michonne sighs, debates the need to say her next words, but he needs to hear them. The question is, does he need to hear these words from her? She says them anyway. "You know why she wouldn't let you touch her." She speaks softly, slowly. Rick doesn't look at her. He's overly interested in the embossed lettering on his beer. His thumbnail traces the gargoyle on the bottleneck. "She didn't want to be unfaithful."

Rick lifts his head and looks at her. It's the saddest thing Michonne has seen in a long while. He knew this, she can see, but he's probably never fully allowed himself to think it, least of all verbalize the fact that his wife's affair has been going on for years. She stopped touching him, because she didn't want to be unfaithful to her lover. Michonne has never understood cheating. Weak, selfish, greedy people cheat. Just leave. Break my heart in one blow, she thinks as she looks at this man who has had his wife go at his heart like an ice sculptor, chipping away at it until it no longer resembles the thing it once was.

"I walked in on them. You know that, right?"

Michonne is momentarily stunned. "No. I didn't know."

"Really? You're the hotshot FBI agent. You're good at your job, right? You should know it all." He drains his second beer, gets up and grabs a third. He's angry now and needs to take it out on someone. She'll let him take it out on her. Once it's out, hopefully they can move on and he can get his head in the mission.

"Yup," Rick says as he flops back down, glugs his beer. "She was ridin' him on our couch. In our living room." He shakes his head. "See I was supposed to be workin' late. Shane got me to write up his reports for him. I see now that he's not as stupid as he pretends to be. Messin' up spellin' and shit. So I wrote 'em. Was supposed to be at work for another two hours or more. But Ned, Deputy Stokes, offered to write the rest for me. I head home, pull around back 'cause I promised Lori I'd get the broken ride-mower out of the yard and haul it to the dump. Now, we don't park behind our house. Ain't no parkin' back there, but when I need to, I pull 'round on the grass and load thangs." He takes another swig. "I get 'round there and see Shane's car. My first thought was Lori got him to haul off the mower and now I'm gonna have to hear her complain about that. But the mower wasn't hooked up and the lights were off in the house. That's when I knew. I walk in through the kitchen and I hear them."

He finishes his beer but doesn't get another one. "I wonder if I'll ever forget that sound. Seeing them wasn't as vivid as hearin' my wife make noises she hasn't made for me in years. People say they have an out of body experience, or they black out or they see red. I always thought that was hyperbole, but I swear all three happened to me in that moment. I wanted to beat the shit out of both of them. I couldn't hit her, so Shane got double the dose." He shrugs. "I don't doubt I would'a killed him if Carl hadn't come home. He was supposed to be spendin' the night at a friend's, but had an upset stomach so he walked home. Nobody needed to tell him what happened. He sees his father beatin' the unholy shit out of his uncle Shane, his _naked_ uncle Shane. His mom's there, naked and screaming. It doesn't take a rocket scientist." Rick scrubs his hands over his face. "And that's that. Nothing more to tell."

But there's more, Michonne thinks. He needs to get this all out. Shine light on his fear and it will be less scary. And she knows he's afraid of something very specific.

"Your daughter—"

"Don't!" He shoots up out of his chair and begins to pace. "You don't think I've thought about that?" His voice cracks. "You don't think that shit gives me nightmares? She…Judith's…she's …" He walks over to the backdoor, hands on his hips, looks out into the dark backyard through the window panels in the door. His chest heaves and he seems unable to calm down.

Michonne pretends not to notice he's crying. She waits until his breathing settles. From his reflection in the windowpane, she sees him wipe his eyes with his thumb. She stands up and slowly approaches him, stops beside him. Her hand comes to rest on his shoulder.

"You love her, right?" she whispers.

He rests his forehead on the door. "Lori? I love her, but I'm not—"

"I meant Judith."

His head snaps up and he locks eyes with her. "Of course. I love my kids more than I love my own life."

"Then she's yours." Michonne looks back at him fiercely. "And you beat the _unholy_ _shit_ out of anyone who even thinks about saying different." She squeezes his shoulder. Rick's Adam's apple bobs like he wants to speak, but his words are stuck in his throat.

"I'm going to head upstairs. My bedroom's at the end of the hall, right?"

He nods, still unable to speak.

"Goodnight, Rick," she whispers. "Don't stay up too late drinking."

As she walks away she wonders why she felt the need to tell him that last bit. It's none of her business if he is up late or not. They aren't leaving town until tomorrow evening. But there is an almost uncontrollable need to take care of him. She grabs her duffle and heads upstairs, trying not to think of the man in the kitchen and how much she wants to stay until she is sure he's okay.

 **888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**

The next morning, Michonne wakes up early. She's a runner and is itching to go for a jog. This persona, however, doesn't seem to be big on that type of fitness. Hand to hand combat, yeah, but not running in her shorts and listening to her favorite playlist. So agent Prescott yields to Emma, the biker chick, and forgoes her run. After showering and getting dressed, she heads down stairs, passing Rick's silent bedroom on her way. She wonders how long he stayed up last night, wonders how much more he drank and if his mind will be in the game today because they have a lot of things to go over before they head north tonight.

Down in the kitchen she finds little to no food. _Bachelors_. Michonne rolls her eyes and gives him a pass, thinking he hasn't had much focus on proper nutrition over the last month. She grabs the keys to Rick's car, which Daryl brought down with him yesterday, and finds her way to the local grocery. It's not quite seven in the morning, on a Thursday, so the store has few people. Even still, those people stare and whisper. It's not her clothing. She is wearing a white t-shirt, jeans and flip-flops. Word has spread like a virus that she is with the former sheriff. Now, it seems from the teenager at the cash register to the little old lady watering the flowers out front, everyone wants to see the woman who wrecked Rick's marriage. Michonne has good hearing and that is the one constants she's heard this morning. And that's just in the ten minutes it takes for her to get coffee, eggs, bacon, bread and a few other things.

It irritates her. She wants to set these assholes straight, but that is not her job. She lectured Carl about ignoring the talk around town, but it seems she's having a hard time with it herself. She feels protective of this man she has just met and his son with his intelligent eyes. She sighs, smiles at the gawking teen who rings her up, then grabs her bags and heads back to Rick's house.

By the time Rick comes down stairs, Michonne has made coffee, French toast, scrambles eggs with cheese and bacon. She glances over her shoulder at Rick. He looks awful…and somehow sexy at the same time. His eyes are sunken. His beard is scruffier. She can practically see it growing before her eyes. But his hair is tussled and he is shirtless with only the jeans he was wearing yesterday. She wonders if he slept in them.

"Wow," he grumbles. "Where'd you get all this?"

"Not from your fridge, that's for sure. _You_ had mustard and beer."

He chuckles as he pours himself a cup of coffee. He inhales it then sips. "This is good."

"It is." She hands him a full plate. "Hope you're hungry."

"Starved. Thanks." He sits at the kitchen table and waits for Michonne to join him. The moment her butt hits the chair, he digs in. They eat silently with the exception of soft moans and grunts from Rick. Michonne likes to see people enjoy her cooking and Rick is certainly enjoying his meal.

"What did you put in this French toast," he asks as he takes his last little bit and cleans the plate with it.

"It's a secret."

He meets her eyes, lifts his eyebrows and bites his bottom lip. Damn if she doesn't have to tell him.

"Vanilla and brown sugar," she says. "That look of yours his dangerous. Don't aim it at me again." She laughs.

"Will you tell me all your secrets if I do?"

Michonne stops smiling and stands up to clear the table. "I have no secrets," she says, but she can feel his eyes on her. He's intuitive. It's one of the first things she noticed about him. Don't pry, Rick, she silently begs. Even though she recognizes the hypocrisy since she's been all up in his business, she needs him to stay out of her. If Rick has plans to address her altered mood, Michonne changes the subject before he can.

"Those papers on the counter"—she points to the area by the backdoor—"need to be signed before we leave. It's just the standard consent forms for when we use civilian consultants."

Rick nods. " _Civilian_."

"Yeah, sorry about that. But technically you are a civilian." She watches as he reads over the consent forms. There's a different kind of sadness on his face now. "Rick," she says softly.

He looks up.

"I'll make sure you are reinstated as sheriff. The FBI will make sure."

Rick sighs. "Not sure I want to be sheriff here again." He shrugs. "I don't know what I want right now, outside of my kids."

Michonne nods. "Okay. When you know, let me know."

 **888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**

Abraham arrives in the afternoon complete with beer, steaks and corn for the grill. He even brings pasta and dessert. The man always has a party with him. From the window in her room she has a view of the backyard. There's a lake out there that looks absolutely beautiful. Summer starts next week and that lake, that yard, this house looks like a lovely place to spend the summer. The thought startles her. She steps back from the window, but before she turns away she sees her brother join Abraham and Rick at the grill. She knows Abraham was going over the logistics of his part of the mission, providing peripheral support. Their veritable eyes and ears. Now it seems they are talking about other things. There is laughter, even from her grump of a brother. A small weight seems to lift from Rick as he stands around those two men, laughing about whatever men find funny. She is glad she chose him for this case. Rick needs them, needs people in his life who don't want to take from him.

No sooner does she have that thought then his wife walks into the backyard. It seems she came from the side of the house, having the decency not to just walk in. She's not a lone either. A little girl comes running in, arms in the air, bright smile on her face. Rick sets down his beer and drops to his knees arms open. The expression on his face as he holds his little girl… Michonne has to look away. Memories stir, memories she wants to keep buried deep.

"This woman is getting on my nerves," Michonne mutters to herself. Lori does not play fair. She can't compete with a new woman, but knows Rick's one and only weakness is his children. Michonne changes her closes and heads down. When she makes to the kitchen, Abe and Daryl are there, presumably to give the three out back some privacy.

Abraham takes one look at Michonne's outfit and scoffs. "You play dirty."

Michonne shrugs. "You don't think coming by unannounced with his daughter isn't playing dirty?"

"Why do you care?" Daryl asks.

"I need him focused," she says.

"Oh, he'll be focused," Abraham adds. "Focused on you in that itty-bitty blue bikini."

She sighs. "That woman is fucking with his mind and I don't know if it's because she's sadistic, or if there is some other motive. No matter, I need his head in the game."

Abraham shakes his head. "One look at you in that bikini and the only place his head's gonna want to be is between your legs."

"Shut up, Abe. Jesus." She looks at Daryl. "You shut up too."

Daryl holds his hands in the air with a smirk on his face. "I ain't say nothin'."

"Yeah, well you think loudly."

"Can I ask you somethin', lil sis? This feel like more than just keepin' his head in the game."

"That's not enough? And you haven't actually asked a question."

"Keepin' his head in the game should be enough," Daryl says, "but it ain't. There's more to it."

Michonne rolls her eyes. "Spit it out, Dump." She uses his hated nickname knowing it will make him cut to the chase.

"You like him."

She shrugs, annoyed. "Yeah, so what? You two like him too."

"Now you're jus' being deliberately stupid." Daryl gets up, walks to the backdoor. It's open but the screen door is closed. Michonne joins him.

"Seriously, Daryl, what are you worried about?"

He looks over at her. "I don't want you hurt again."

She rests her head on his shoulder. "I know. I'm not going to get hurt. The lines have been drawn. But I need him focused on this case before we head up north."

"And that's all?"

"That's all," she says.

They stand quietly at the back door. They are able to hear Rick and Lori's conversation clearly. Lori checks her cellphone, ignores whomever it is that just called. Their daughter runs around the yard, picking flowers, tossing rocks into the lake and chasing butterflies, oblivious to the serious nature of the visit.

"—mistake, Rick," Lori is saying when Michonne tunes into the conversation. "I need for us to work this out. I know I'm at fault—"

"But see, that's the thing," Rick says, hands on his hips. "It's not like our marriage was perfect before you fu—" He looks around to see where his daughter is. Spots her by the lakes edge. "Sweetheart, come away from the water."

"Otay, Daddy." She says some other things that are half two-year-old gibberish and half words as she chases after a jackrabbit that darts from a bush. "Wabbit!"

Rick turns back to Lori who is checking her chirping phone again. "We had problems, Lori."

"I know and I dealt with them in the wrong way."

"I don't need you to confirm this," Rick says. "But I think I know when things started happening with Shane."

Lori looks down at the grass and wipes her eyes.

"We were messed up before Shane. The thing is, Lori, I have no idea why. And I've thought about it." He tilts his head and leans toward her. " _Really_ thought about it. I just don't fuckin' know what happened. You wanted me to be somethin' I wasn't. Wanted me to say somethin' I didn't or couldn't. And the God's honest truth, I don't know what that is. My silence hurt you and I'm sorry for it, but you married a stoic man and then grew to hate that about him. Your words hurt me. I married an expressive woman and grew to hate that about you. You wanted me to talk and then hated when I did. I wanted you to keep quiet and then hated when you did. So the only thing I can think is, we each went into our marriage not fully knowin' who the other person was. If we met today, would we even like each other? I'm never gonna be a talker. This conversation right here is exhaustin' the hell outta me. But I'm doin' it cause it needs to be done."

Lori swallows, wipes more tears from her eyes. As much as Michonne is remiss to feel any sorrow for the other woman, she can't help herself. She feels sorry for Lori. She made a mess of her life and the waves have yet to stop rippling. Lori pulls out her ringing phone again and finally powers it off.

"Everything you said is right, Rick. But I'd like to think that if we met now, we'd like each other." She smiles hopefully and then it dies when Rick doesn't join in. "It's because of _her_ , isn't it?"

"This has nothing to do with Mi—" He corrects himself. "Em."

"Listen, Rick. I just need you to forgive me, okay. And then we can work from there. I don't want it to be over between us. I need this fixed," she begs.

"Lori," Rick sighs. "Can you not be so selfish right now?"

"Selfish? I'm not—"

"Yeah, you are. _You_ need me to forgive _you_. _You_ don't want this to be over between us. _You_ need this fixed. From the moment this all went down, you've been on me to move on, forgive you, to stop being so angry. Never once have you asked what I need, what I want…even though I've been tellin' you in every way possible. I told you last night. Told you last week and I'm gonna tell you right now. I need time, Lori. I don't know how much time. But only _I_ will know when I'm ready to talk, ready to forgive you or anything else, okay?"

She covers her face. "I want to say okay, Rick. I really do. I'm scared that if I walk away without you forgiving me…I'll lose you forever." Rick pinches the ridge of his nose. Before he can reply, she continues. "It's _her_."

Now Rick really does sigh. "I met her two days ago. _You_ said she's temporary. If you believe that, why are you worried?"

Michonne quirks a brow at that.

Lori shakes her head. "I saw the way you looked at her last night. It took you months before you looked at me like that…if you ever did."

"Lori—"

"I see it, Rick!" She steps closer to him. Her expression is angry, frightened and desperate all at once. "I know you. You're a purposeful man. You don't just take up with women." She draws in a shuttering breath. "You don't just take of your ring if…" She stops, unable to finish.

Rick glances at his hand, almost as if he has forgotten that he removed his wedding ring. He runs his left hand through his hair. "What do you want me to say, Lori? I don't want to hurt you, but I'm not just gonna say somethin' to make you feel better. I'm not ready to forgive you. I've felt this way for longer than the time I've known Em, so you can't blame her. You'll just have to walk away without my forgiveness. I'm sorry. It wouldn't be authentic today anyway."

"Okay…okay…I'll give you time." She wipes her damp face and they stand there for several long moments, silently watching their daughter run around the yard.

Finally, Lori says, "Come on honey, let's get home. Give your daddy a hug."

Rick holds on until Judith starts to squirm. He looks like a piece of him walks out of the yard when the little girl leaves. Michonne watches from the backdoor as she slips on her cover-up.

"Swimsuit deactivated," Abraham says with a snicker.

"You know you don't need none of that shit to turn his head, right?" Daryl says.

"This wasn't for him." She gestures to the small powder-blue bikini. "I'm not trying to turn his head. I need his wife and her bullshit out of his head for the time being."

"So why you ain't go out there," her brother asks.

"Because he finally said what needed to be said. And I think she finally heard him."

Rick is removing the steaks from the grill when another person enters the yard. Sheriff Walsh.

"Son of a bitch," Michonne hisses.

"What?" Abraham and Daryl say at the same time. They rejoin Michonne at the backdoor.

"This asshole again," Abe says.

Rick turns with the platter of steaks and his whole demeanor changes when he sees his former friend. "What do you want?"

Shane shifts from foot to foot, rubs his hand over his head. "You tryin' to get Lori back?"

Rick only squints at Shane like the other man has lost his mind.

"See, I been callin' her for that past hour and she ain't been answerin'. So I had a thought, maybe she was over here." He walks around in a circle like a caged animal. "I parked down the street, ain't see her car, so I waited. Guess what, twenty minutes later, she shows up. I called her as she was gettin' out of the car and watched her ignore my call!"

Rick shrugs. "You want me to feel sorry for you…cause I don't. You sound like a fuckin' idiot, right now."

"Fuck you, man! I know the game you playin'. Heard you been flauntin' some woman. It's bullshit. You just tryin' to get Lori jealous and you think ridin' round on some bitch-ass motorcycle with some whore on the back is gonna do it."

Rick turns and sets the platter of steaks on the shelf attached to the grill. Michonne can see the impending ass whipping about to go down. She throws off the cover-up, snatches the beers from Daryl and Abraham's hands and kicks open the screen door.

"Swimsuit reactivated," Abraham whispers.

The door closes with a loud thwap, pulling the attention of the two men in the yard. They both stop. Shane's mouth falls open. A muscle in Rick's jaw begins to pulse as he looks Michonne up and down. She turns her head and whispers over her shoulder to Abe and Daryl. "You two stick close. If Rick hits him again…he'll probably kill him." She turns back to the yard and places a coy smile on her face, just for Rick, as she tiptoes down the porch steps.

"Brought you a beer," she says softly and walks right up to Rick. She doesn't stop until she is pressed up against him. Rick's arm snakes around her waist and it seems he doesn't know what to say…or rather how to speak. Michonne swishes her dreads over her shoulder and looks at Shane. "Sheriff, good to see you again."

Shane finally looks at her face. "Agent Prescott?" He looks like someone broke his brain. "The hell…"

"You seem surprised." She cocks her head to the side.

"To say the least. This is…" He laughs, looks relieved and then the smile fades as if he remembers something. "You know, I called our local FED office for Georgia. They ain't never hear of you or your partner."

"You're point?" Michonne asks. The majority of the time they are undercover agents, so any inquiries from unknown or un-vetted persons and Michonne and Abraham's credentials are denied. "Don't I look like a federal agent?" She steps away from Rick and spreads her arms.

"You look like a cure for erectile dysfunction."

Rick moves forward, fist locked and loaded. Abraham steps outside then. "Everything alright, gentlemen?"

Shane glares at Rick for another heated moment, like he's contemplating egging on a fight. His eyes land on Michonne. He takes a good long look at her, then narrows his eyes on Abraham who is still on the porch. "I don't know what's going on here, but I don't think either of you are FBI agents." He points a strong finger at both of them in turn. "I'm gonna figure it out." He turns on his heel and marches out of the yard.

Abraham comes down the steps. Daryl follows. The four of them stand in the yard, facing the direction Shane left.

"He gonna be a problem?" Daryl asks.

"Nothing we can't handle," Michonne says.

"I don't know," Abraham says. "He looks like a persistent fuck-tard."

Rick snorts. "Should'a let me shoot him when I wanted to."

 **8888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888**

 **A/N:** I know it seems like I'm never going to get to the action, but I promise the next chapter will have some action. Good ole violent Rick will rear his beautiful head.

I really just wanted a little more depth with Lori and Rick. I was watching some of season one this past weekend. The episode where Shane damn near rapes Lori was something I forgot about. And I really saw how damaging Shane was and how regretful Lori was.

Yes, she pitted the two men against each other and she spent like a minute mourning her "dead" husband before she started screwing his best friend, but I really think she bit off more than she could chew. And of the two men, she definitely saw the danger in being with Shane. She loved Rick. I know this. And it's something that Shane said in that episode that made me realize how much. He said, "You never would've left if there was any inkling that Rick was still alive." Or something to that effect.

She loves him, yes, but they were not good for each other. I believe they would've been divorced if the apocalypse hadn't happened. And I believe she would've still slept with Shane too…if not during, definitely after. Shane would've made sure of it. And I also believe that Richonne would've still happened if Lori had lived.

So sorry for the long author's note, but Lori and Rick's relationship is something I can dissect and discuss just as much as I can with Rick and Michonne's relationship. If any of you are on Tumblr, follow me ( kdrose72- blog/kdrose72) and you'll see how I have nitpicked so much of the Richonne ship that I love so much!


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Hi all! Let me just start by apologizing. I'm about to go on vacation for a week…like tomorrow. I knew I had to post this next chapter before I left though. I'm apologizing because chapter 7 isn't written yet. I usually have two chapters written at a time so I can post once a week. I don't know how long it will be for chapter 7 to be posted, but I will try very hard to get it to you within a week. I am taking my laptop with me, but as I will be at a beach house with friends and family, I can't guarantee I will get much writing done. So at the latest, there may be a 2 week delay getting my next chapter up.

Not to mention, with all that has been going on in the country recently, I, like a lot of my fellow fanfic writers have found it hard to focus. I have been so devastated by what is going on in our country. I am worried for all my kings…and my queens too. But I can't live with hate in my heart. I can't thrive with fear in my heart. It took me a while, in the face of so much hate and pain, to remember who I am at my core and that is a beautiful, black woman who knows my worth and the worth of my brothers and sisters. So I'll leave you with the chorus of Andra Day's song "Rise Up". It has gotten me through and if there is anyone out there feeling broken down and tired, I hope this helps…

 _And I'll rise up_

 _I'll rise like the day_

 _I'll rise up_

 _I'll rise unafraid_

 _I'll rise up_

 _And I'll do it a thousand times again_

 _And I'll rise up_

 _High like the waves_

 _I'll rise up_

 _In spite of the ache_

 _I'll rise up_

 _And I'll do it a thousand times again…_

BLURRED LINES

Chapter 6

Rick watches Daryl eat his steak like a savage. It completely boggles his mind that this man and Michonne grew up in the same house. Rick snorts when Daryl licks ketchup-which he drowned his steak in—from his fingers.

Daryl stands. "I'm out. Thanks for the grub." Michonne stands too and embraces her brother. "Be careful," Daryl says and Rick thinks it is only meant for Michonne's ears because of what he says next. "And I don't just mean this mission. He's dangerous too."

Michonne responds, but she's better at whispering than her brother so Rick doesn't hear. He doesn't know what Daryl means that Rick is dangerous too, but decides to ask Michonne about it when they are alone. Daryl leaves without as much as a fuck off for the other two men. When Michonne returns to the table, Abraham starts in on the details of what to expect when they head up north tonight.

"They have a few subsets of The Walking Dead," Abraham says. "It's the reason we have an in."

"Subsets?" Rick asks.

"Groups forming within the gang. Metastasizing. Word is, the leader doesn't like this. He likes the idea of this band of bitch-nuts being one big fucked up family. So far we know of only a few subsets. They've tormented and killed within the gang. From what we've been hearing that is a big no-no. Apparently, only the leader decides who lives and dies in his Dead family. Intel says this sub-gang has taken up at a bar in Union."

Rick scratches his thickening beard. "So how is this our in?"

"You and Michonne go in and take these guys out. That's bound to get you some attention."

Rick looks at Abraham then Michonne like they have both lost their minds. "You want the two of us to take on a group of guys that are so mean even their own gang—scary in their right—are afraid of them?"

"Yup." Abraham chews a large chunk of steak.

"I missed the part in the paper work that said I signed up for a suicide mission."

"He's being an ass right now," Michonne says. "Testing you. We don't have to take on the whole group, which we believe is about seven or eight guys right now, we just need to knock their leader down a notch. It's the same principle as our overall goal. Take down the head of these assholes and the rest will fall. Hopefully, that will give us enough juice to spark the interest of the leader. We'll go there tonight and wait for them to notice us."

"If you keep that bathing suit on, that won't be a problem." Rick grins at her.

She smiles back until she catches Abraham's eye. She takes another bite of her steak and looks a little uncomfortable. When Carl walks into the yard, Michonne greets him quickly and makes a dash for the house.

"Hey," Rick says, embracing his son. "You look tired."

Carl shrugs. "Didn't sleep much last night."

"Why not?"

"Mom and Shane were arguing."

Rick grits his teeth. "He threatenin' your mom? Do you feel unsafe with him 'round the house?"

"It's not that, dad. He's more so begging and Mom's arguing."

"Listen to me," Rick says, not feeling any better with the clarification. "If you ever feel threatened, feel in danger, you do whatever it takes to keep your mom and sister safe." He stares Carl right in the eyes. "You understand me?"

Carl takes a moment to hold his father's stare. "I understand you 100%, Dad." He takes off the sheriff's hat and runs his hand through his long hair. "I know where your spare gun is."

"You know how to use it," Michonne says from behind them. She has put on a pair of white shorts and a black tank. The straps of that mind-blowing bikini are still showing around her neck. Rick appreciates that she covered herself in front of his teenaged son. He wonders what type of swimsuit she'd wear if they had a nice afternoon of swimming in the lake with Carl and Judith. Probably a one-piece, respectful but still sexy.

Michonne speaks again, snapping Rick out of his impromptu fantasy. "So do you…know how to use it?"

"Yeah," Carl says. "My dad taught me."

She nods. "You're good then, right?"

"I'm good."

"Then you put a bullet in anyone who threatens to hurt you or family. I don't care who it is." She pats his cheek then walks back over to the table.

Rick and Carl share stunned looks with other. Michonne is a constant surprise. She basically condoned his fourteen year old son using deadly force if necessary. Shocking from a woman, but even more so from a federal agent. She rejoins Rick and Carl and hands the younger of the two a black cellphone.

"This is your burner. It has your dad's number already in it. No one else has this number but me, agent Ford and your dad. If this phone rings, you answer it." She meets his eyes sternly. "I don't care if you are in class, in church, or losing your virginity."

"You assume I still have it." Carl smirks.

"I'm standin' right here." Rick slaps Carl upside the back of his head.

Michonne smiles. "The same goes for your dad's phone. It'll probably be best to call him during the day. Most of our work will be at night. He will always answer for you, or I will, or agent Ford. If anyone one else answers, hang up and wait for us to contact you. If you don't get an answer at all…after a reasonable amount of time, call this number." She hands Carl a black card with white lettering. "Say the code on the back and someone will come take you to safety.

Carl looks at the card, looks at the six-digit number on the back and then looks at Michonne. "What's this for?"

"If you need that card, then your dad and I are in trouble."

###

Michonne hangs on tightly as they tear up Route 19, heading to Union County. It's after ten in the evening and their first stop is the house they will occupy on the outskirts of town. Rick turns down a dirt road, one headlight illuminating the way. The rural neighborhood is poor but neat. They stop in front of a small farmhouse. Michonne dismounts and pulls the satchel over her head. It has both of their meager possession in it. A few outfits and toiletries. If they need more they'll buy more.

She steps up on the rickety old porch. The wood creaks under her weight. "Abe _would_ find us a house that won't sustain a strong wind." She pulls open the screen door and it nearly falls off its hinges. "That asshole," she mutters as she unlocks the door. Inside of the house looks better than the outside promises. It's clean, although it smells a little old and damp. The living room and dining room are one open space with a white brick fireplace in the former. Much like Rick's house, the backdoor in the kitchen can be seen from the front door. The stairs are on the left. Michonne finds two bedrooms and a bathroom on the second level. She claims the first room they come to with Rick taking the one next to the bathroom. They agree to freshen up, just a little—don't want to look too clean at the biker bar—and head out in a half an hour.

Michonne changes into skintight black leggings, high heeled, knee-high boots with silver chains and a turquoise top. Rick is already downstairs when she steps into the living room. He has changed into a brown t-shirt and is slipping on a tan and brown jacket. She'd wondered if he'd been chilly on the ride up. It's warm out but Rick catches the brunt of the wind, shielding her from the bulk of it.

"You missed a loop," he says, staring at her side. The turquoise top she has on is a simple triangle in the front with the back comprised of a series of straps that form a star pattern across her back. She looks down at her side and sees one of the loops is not threaded.

"Shit," she says. "It took forever to lace this damn thing. I'll go change."

"Don't," he says, and grabs her wrist. "I can fix it."

Michonne contemplates this for a moment, then nods. The instant he touches her, she knows she made a mistake. His knuckles brush against her skin as he unties the knot at the small of her back. Slowly, Rick unlaces each loop until he gets to the skipped one and Michonne has to hold the fabric against her bare chest. As he rethreads the top, his ghost-like touch makes her shiver. Rick doesn't mention it and Michonne is grateful.

He ties it snuggly at the small of her back again, then leans in close to her ear. "Wouldn't want it come off."

"Yeah." She swallows. "Wouldn't want that." Quickly, she moves to the small bag Rick had hitched to the back of the bike, hoping he won't notice how unnerved she is by his close proximity. It seems the tables are turning. A few days ago, she made him nervous. Now, she doesn't quite know what to do with herself around him. What changed?

"Think you gonna need that?" Rick asks as he watches her slip a six-inch blade inside a hidden sheath in her boot.

"Rather have and not need it than the other way around." She slides a smaller curved blade into her other boot.

"You didn't leave yourself too many hidin' places with that outfit." He quirks an eyebrow at her.

Is he flirting? "I have my knives…and _you_. What else does a girl need?"

 _Don't flirt back with him, Michonne,_ she chastises herself. Too late, though. They stare at each other for a heated moment. Until her eyes lower to the gun-belt hanging on his hips, big ass Colt Python holstered inside.

"Are you just going to wear your gun out in the open like that?"

Rick tilts his head to the side. "Who's gonna stop me? I'm supposed to not give a fuck, right? Cause I don't. So let's get to it." He turns and heads out the door. That's when Michonne realizes what has changed. Rick Grimes is starting to embrace this persona he's supposed to be perpetrating…and it's sexy as hell.

" _Shit_." She is in serious trouble.

###

The outside of the bar looks like every other shit-hole Rick has ever been to. Motorcycles line the front with random assholes astride or lingering around talking. They all wear black leather jackets with a decaying skull etched on the back and the letters TWD snaking out of the gaping mouth. Rick and Michonne draw attention as roll to a stop out front. She climbs off the bike. Rick isn't the only one watching as she adjusts her clothing.

"You sure you can walk in those?" Rick asks, eyeing the silver spiked heels on her boots.

"Watch me."

"Oh, I'm watchin'." He slaps her ass as she struts into the bar, putting on a show for the gawkers. Rick lets her go in first while he remains on the bike, surveilling the perimeter. A few guys approach, look him over, compliment him on Michonne in the most crude and offensive ways. They ask about the bike. Rick recites what Daryl told him and the few things he learned online. Seems to satisfy the natives. Ten or fifteen minutes have passed since Michonne went inside. That's enough time for her to have gotten the lay of the land so he enters the bar.

The smell is the first thing that hits him. Stale beer, sawdust and hopelessness. Small round tables clutter the perimeter of the room. At the far end of the bar sits a jukebox that's playing Hank Williams. The place is full, but not really crowded. Each table—which there are about eight—has one or two people seated.

"Claimed!"

The shout and subsequent laughter brings Rick's attention to the bar. Three men are seated there. One has an arm around Michonne's waist and is trying to kiss her. Rick heads for the bar, eating up the distance in half a dozen steps, and slams the man's head against the countertop. Holds it there. The guy's barstool clatters to the floor as he kicks and fights to be let free. Silence rings out around the establishment. Even the music stops.

"Let her go," Rick says quietly.

"Get your fuckin' hands off me!"

"I don't think I will."

"I do," says someone behind Rick.

"Me too," says another.

"And me," from a third.

He hears the distinct click of a gun being cocked. He glances over his shoulder. Three men stand there. One has a gun, another has a bat, and the third has a knife. Rick isn't surprised to see the three men with weapons at the ready. He is surprised, however, to see that one of the men is Michonne's brother Daryl. Rick doesn't react. He notices too, that Daryl is the one with the gun and it isn't really pointed at Rick. It only appears to be, but it's aimed a little too low to hit him. A bullet would land squarely in this assholes back if Daryl fired.

The aforementioned asshole begins to laugh. "See, shithead. Get off me or you die."

"I have no problem lettin' you go. But you let her go first."

The man tightens his grip on Michonne, pulling her closer. Rick presses harder on the guy's head, causing him to holler out in pain.

"I called claimed!" he yells. "She's mine."

Rick narrows his eyes, wondering if he's gonna have to kill this asshole over such a childish reason. He looks at Michonne. She quirks an eyebrow then looks down. He sees what she's doing and goes with it.

Daryl says, "He said claimed. Called it b'fore anybody else. She's his."

Rick almost laughs. "I'm sorry. I'm new to town. I don't know the rules." He puts more pressure on the man's head, causing another growl of pain. "But, ya'll don't know my rules either. See, I don't share. I'm just a selfish bastard like that."

"Well, that's not true, babe," Michonne says. "You share lots of things."

"You're right. I do." He smiles at her. "I have been known to share bullets with lots of folks. In fact, I got enough bullets to share with just about everybody in here…and I'm feelin' mighty generous." He pulls out the Colt, aims it with a steady hand at the back of the guy's head.

"Hey, ass-face," one of the other guys says, "can you count? We outnumber you. Let'em up or your girlfriend gonna be washin' your brains outta her hair for a week."

"Maybe," Rick says. "But this asshole gonna be pissin' out of a tube for the rest of his life."

"Wha…" The guy with his head smashed against the bar top can't see the six inch blade Michonne has to his groin, but he sure as hell feels it when she presses it deep enough to draw blood. He releases her with a high-pitched squeal and a hand to his cut crotch. Before anyone can fully process what happened, Rick slams the butt of the Colt against the guy's head, knocking him out cold. He has his gun aimed on the three men before their friend hits the ground.

Rick then focuses his aim on Daryl, the only one with a gun. There are others in the bar who are armed, Rick can clearly see, but this bunch must be a part of the subset that hasn't made many friends among their fellow Dead. No one seems willing to back these men.

"You wanna put your gun down?" Rick asks.

"Naw, man. I'm good," Daryl says.

Rick glares at him. He doesn't know why none of them thought it necessary to tell him Michonne's brother was actually a part of this. He thought it odd that they were speaking so openly in front of Daryl, but he figured it was a family thing. Is Daryl a FED too, or a civilian like himself? Rick doesn't know and right now, he doesn't care. He's gonna play this out even if he has to shoot somebody in the bar.

Just as he cocks the hammer back on his gun, the door opens and in walks an older man. Salt and pepper hair, scraggly beard and evil eyes stare back at Rick. Michonne moves to his side, pulls her second blade from her boot. The tension in the bar amps up. Even Daryl looks a bit on edge. The guy takes in the scene. He smiles but it doesn't reach his evil eyes. Rick knows without question that this man is the leader. But is he the leader of The Walking Dead or this subset?

"Well," he says, "looks like I've walked in on somethin'. Daryl, that's no way to treat newcomers. Put your gun away."

"But Joe, this asshole knocked out Len."

"Now, now," Joe says, smiling wider. "I'm sure he had his reasons. We can all talk like friends."

A look passes between Daryl and Michonne—a brother, sister message that Rick can't read—but it makes Rick hesitant to holsters his gun especially since Daryl has put away his. Joe approaches, eyes on Michonne now, in a way Rick definitely doesn't like. He walks past Michonne and squats down, slaps Len a few times in the face until the man comes to.

"Wanna tell me what happened?" Joe asks Len as he helps him to his feet.

Holding his crotch, Len says, "I called claimed." He scowls at Rick like an ugly toddler.

Joe turns with wide eyes. "Did he?"

Rick still has his gun in his hand, but it is at his side. "He did. Now ask me if I give a fuck?"

"Ho, ho, ho. You kiss your mama with that mouth?" Joe laughs. No one joins in. "What was it you claimed, Len?"

"The girl," he whines.

Joe walks around Michonne. She tracks him with her eyes, tightens her grip on her knives. "He called claimed. Rightfully, she belongs to him."

Rick cocks his head to the side, raises his gun, and aims it between Joe's eyes. "Rightfully, a bullet from my gun belongs to you."

"Whoa now, partner. I wasn't finished. You're new here so you get a pass." He steps closer until the barrel of the gun touches his forehead. " _This_ time, you get a pass. Now you know the rules. If you show your face around here again, no more passes. Got that?"

Rick snorts, glares at Joe for a scorching moment and then holsters his gun. He deliberately doesn't agree or disagree with Joe, simply walks to the bar and takes a seat. Michonne watches the men for a few beats, then sheaths her knives inside her boots and joins Rick, standing between his spread legs. It's plain to see that Joe doesn't like the way Rick dismissed him, but he puts on a smile and shouts that the show is over. The other patrons begin talking immediately. The "Claimers" take a seat at a table in the back, heads together, talking.

"What can I get you?" A blonde woman asks from behind the bar. "Figure you'd want a drink right now."

Michonne looks at the woman, who is only looking at Rick, and says, "Two bourbons." The bartender stares at Rick until Michonne snaps fingers in her face. "Did you hear me?"

"I heard you," she says. "But I was asking _him_. That's the way it works around here. The man says what goes."

Michonne laughs. "Sweetheart, go get that damn bourbon or you'll be kissing this countertop like that jackass was ten minutes ago."

Rick watches the woman try to stare down Michonne. She is no match. It's actually kind of sad. She walks away, takes down two shot glasses and fills them with bourbon. When she slides them in front of Rick and Michonne, she speaks to Rick only.

"You better get her under control. She's gonna get you killed."

Rick raises an amused brow. Michonne shoots the bourbon, slams the glass down on the bar top and slides it toward the blonde.

"Hasn't happened yet, and you certainly aren't woman enough to do it."

The woman glares at Michonne, but it's clear she doesn't have the nerve to speak again. Rick loves that he doesn't have to stand up for Michonne. He can and he will, but it's not needed. He tosses back the bourbon and pulls her into him, pressing his lips to her neck. The blonde woman watches them for a second more and then moves down the bar to wait on a man who has had far too many already.

Rick moves his lips up Michonne's neck, to her ear. "This place is seriously fucked up."

"Yeah," she whispers. "We have not made friends. But that's what we planned. I'm ready to go when you are, but I think it will look like we are running scared if we leave now."

"Yeah," Rick says. "Follow my lead." He pulls back and kisses her, tilts his head, she tilts her. Their tongues meet, slowly at first, acting, but then the pretense slips away. At least it does for Rick. He moans in her mouth, sucks her bottom lip, feels this kiss down to his toes. His hands slide down her back, grip her ass as he delves deeper.

Michonne breaks the kiss and stares at Rick with an expression he can only describe as panic. It flashes across her face so quickly he isn't sure what he sees. He becomes aware that they have the attention of quite a few people in the bar. He stands, kisses her again deeply, but briefly. This kiss is different. The lips and tongue are the same, but this is fake Rick kissing Em, not Michonne. Play the part, Rick, he says to himself. So he picks her up and tosses her over his shoulder. She squeals with laughter, a laugh Em would make, not Michonne. He knows this without a doubt although he has no proof. All eyes are on them now. As Rick heads to the exit, he hears Michonne make a kissing sound. He assumes she has blown a kiss to Len, or perhaps Joe…maybe all of them, before she shouts,

"Claimed!"


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: So sorry for the delay. Life caught up with me. When I got back from vacation, my internet was down. Just got it back today! Then, my literary agent and I have parted ways. So I am not on the hut for a new agent. It's exciting and scary at the same time. While I love, love, love writing Richonne fanfics, my original work takes priority. I will try to update as regularly and as often as possible, but there may be a bit of a delay sometimes. But rest assured, I will never abandon this story! :-)

 **BLURRED LINES**

CHAPTER 7

As they idle in a drive-through for burgers, Michonne can tell Rick is pissed. She's not feeling altogether herself either. That kiss…she decides not to focus on that for fear of where her pondering will lead. Instead she tries to figure out what happened in the past few minutes to anger Rick. A bag of hot burgers and fries rest between her and Rick as they fly toward their temporary home.

Inside, Michonne sits the bag down on the coffee table and watches Rick, wondering if he is going to tell her what's gotten him so upset.

"You're angry," she says.

He turns to her, his back to the fireplace. "Mighty observant, agent."

She puts her a hand on her hip. "Want to tell me why?"

Before Rick can speak, Daryl appears at the kitchen archway. Obviously he beat them to the house and broke in while they stopped for food. He has a fresh bruise under his left eye that doesn't go unnoticed by Michonne.

"There's your reason," Rick says, pointing at Daryl. "Nobody thought it was important to tell me your brother was one of these assholes we're tryin' to bring down?"

Daryl doesn't speak, only leans against the wall that divides the dining room and kitchen. Michonne sighs and pulls her dreads up off her neck. It's stuffy in the room and she's getting hot.

"It's my brother's place to explain his reasons for joining TWD all those years ago. He—"

"Enough if this, 'his story to tell' bullshit. I don't need his fuckin' history," Rick shouts. "A heads up would've been nice. I could've blown this whole thang wide open if my reaction to him had been even the slightest bit wrong."

"I knew you would roll with it," Michonne says. "And you did."

"Oh, you knew that did you? Glad you have so much faith in me, or is it that you can read minds now?"

"I'm good at reading people, Rick. It's why I was in charge of finding a new partner for this. It's why I chose you and you're doing a great job."

"I don't need my ego stroked." He grits his teeth. "Quit testin' me. Quit spoon feedin' me info. I know what you know right now or I walk." He shrugs. "And when these assholes make their way to King County, I'll just kill them all."

Daryl snorts. "You talk a lotta shit, cowboy."

"It ain't just talk."

Daryl steps into the room. Michonne knows that look. Her brother is about to make matters worse.

"Stop, you two." She turns to Daryl. "He's right. I should have told him." She turns to Rick. "I'm sorry. I made a decision. Thought you'd be good enough to roll with seeing my brother in that bar and you were. But I see now that you probably would've dealt with it even if you'd know beforehand. I also didn't tell you about Daryl being in TWD 'cause—"

"She's ashamed," Daryl finishes for her.

"That's not true." Michonne walks over to her brother, makes him look her in the eyes. "Frustrated, not ashamed. _Worried_ , but never ashamed." He nods, looks down at the floor. Michonne turns back to Rick. "I didn't want you to judge him. Daryl joined them…made a decision for reasons which are his own. I wasn't there for him…or he didn't trust me to—"

Daryl shakes his head. "It's not on you. I didn't reach out to you. I could'a. I knew it was a mistake the minute I joined." He shrugs. "But the only way out is death."

"That was three years ago," Michonne says. "I've been trying to find a way to bring down this gang ever since. This is the closest we've gotten." She walks back over to Rick. "I need you. I'm sorry I didn't disclose everything to you. It won't happen again. I need this to get my brother out of this mess. I need you." She feels a lump form in her throat, but swallows back her tears and waits for Rick to answer her.

He stares her in the eyes for what feels like an eternity and then he nods. Michonne releases a long held breath. She wants so badly to hug him. This plan will not work without Rick. Instead of hugging him, she gestures for him to sit on the couch. She sits at the opposite end and focuses on Daryl.

"What happened after we left? You all looked like you were in deep discussion."

Daryl leans against the fireplace. "Joe ain't happy. He tryin' to act like it was no big deal, but you pissed him off," he says to Rick.

"Good."

"What's that mean for us?" Michonne asks.

"Rick made him look stupid in front of his boys and the other TWD. Them assholes scared shitless of him and Rick ain't. He talk like he want to get Rick to join in his little crew. Said we need some fresh blood. Want me to find out what I can 'bout you. But it's bullshit. He know he can't control you. You ain't scared of him so that mean you gotta go. 'Less you got plans to fall in line and be submissive to him, then Joe gonna try to take you out."

Rick quirks a brow. "The plan is to piss people off, right? I wouldn't submit to that asshole even if that wasn't the plan."

"He ain't too happy 'bout Michonne neither."

"Is that right?" she says.

"Almost blew my cover." Daryl shakes his head. "Some of the things they said 'bout you…I'm gonna enjoy beatin' the shit outta them."

"Can I ask something?" Rick says and continues when Daryl and Michonne nod their consent. "No offence, but most biker gangs I've seen ain't too keen on mixin' the races and—"

"They don't give a shit about that," Daryl says. "As long as you're a complete fuck up, and follow their rules, they don't care."

"But women are a different story," Michonne says, remembering the bartender's comment to Rick.

"Yeah," Daryl answers. "They got some women high up in the ranks, or at least seem to be respected, but even they don't get to mouth off to certain members. It's like, the girl behind the bar, Jessie, she owns that spot and she fell right in line when TWD came in and took over, so she gets some respect. If she takes a likin' to a guy, even if he got somebody, she gets to get him cause she keeps the liquor flowin' and the men happy. I think she took a likin' to you." Daryl grins at Rick.

Michonne bristles. It's on the tip of her tongue to say she'll beat that bitch's ass, but keeps her comment to herself. "Where else do they hang?" she asks instead.

"There's a dinner they go to most nights after the bar. It's 24 hours."

"We should've gone there," Rick says.

"Naw. They needed a minute to cool down. Michonne's little parting gift really disrespected them."

"Really?" she asks.

"Yeah. They get all twisted up 'bout anybody else usin' that _claimed_ bullshit. Especially since they tried to claim you and not only was they not able to, but then you turned it around on them. That shit was funny as hell."

"Is that why you have a shiner, you laughed?"

Daryl shrugs. "Worth it." He heads for the kitchen again. "Come 'round the bar tomorrow night bout midnight. See how Joe reacts to you. You'll know if it's time to battle him or not. I won't be back in town till around that time."

Michonne stands, follows him to the back door. "Where you going?"

"Gotta head up to Atlanta to visit Mama. I won't get back on the road till like ten or eleven. You know I can't turn down her food and it put me right to sleep."

"You eat so much of it. Greedy ass."

"If I don't eat at least three plates she thinks I'm sick or somethin'."

Michonne touches Daryl's cheek, looks at the bruise under his eye. "Be careful. I will burn this city to the ground if something happens to you."

"You talk a lotta shit, too."

"And I back it up."

Daryl presses his lips to her forehead then pulls back and looks into her eyes. "Tell him why I joined if you want."

Shocked, Michonne blinks a few times. "Really?" Her bother is extremely private, so to say she is surprised is an understatement.

"What he thinks means a lot to you, and—"

"No, it—"

Daryl puts a finger over her lips. "I saw that kiss."

She pushes his hand away. "So what," she says, but her heart begins to thump wildly in her chest. There is no bullshitting Daryl. He knows her better than anyone on the planet. "I've kissed Abraham, and agent Rhee. Hell, I even had to make out with Abraham's fiancé, so what you saw tonight was no different."

Daryl stares down at his sister for a long moment. Michonne feels as if every dark corner in her soul has been fully illuminated. Like Daryl can see her loneliness, pain and fear. She can't risk her heart again and she won't. He doesn't say anything, only looks at her with sad eyes, eyes that break her heart because she knows his heart is breaking for _her_.

He takes her face in his hands. "I want you to have a full life. I want you to be happy."

Michonne swallows hard. "I am happy. I…" she can't finish the lie. She loves her job but that is all she has outside of Daryl and her mom. It's a half-full life. She doesn't even know she's crying until her brother thumbs away her tears. She looks up into his misty eyes and then they both laugh.

"Why the hell are we crying?" she asks.

"We been crazy-cryin' together since we met. I'm leavin' now 'fore you make me eat ice cream and listen to Sade records." They embrace again. Michonne watches him slip out the door and through the back yard. The lights are out in the kitchen so she can see his shadowy form jog down a few houses before disappearing around a corner.

Back in the living room, Rick has spread out the food on the coffee table. A single lamp is on, bathing to room in a soft golden glow. Michonne flops down at the other end of the couch and grabs a cold fry and eats it. She can see Rick is still not happy with being left out of the loop. She picks up another French fry, but tosses it back in the basket without eating. Her appetite is gone. Rick pushes his food around, but he's not interested in it either.

"Daryl's brother," Michonne begins quietly, "he…he had a son."

Rick looks at her, twists on the couch to face her. She sinks back into the sofa, closes her eyes.

"We didn't know about Charlie until after Merle died. Charlie's mom found Daryl. She was strung out, looking for Charlie, but really trying to get money." Michonne takes a deep breath. "My brother may not look it, but he has a huge heart and he wears it on his sleeve…if you know where to look. Well, once he gave Leslie a few hundred dollars, she split, but not before tossing out that Charlie was probably off with The Walking Dead somewhere. Apparently, he'd run off and joined them."

She looks at Rick, sees that the man understands—without her telling him—the events which led Daryl to becoming a member of the most notorious gang in the country.

She continues anyway. "Daryl immediately set out to find Charlie. Didn't take him long either. What he found was a tough seventeen year old who had bitten off more than he could chew with TWD. He wanted out. So Daryl joined, thought he'd be able to get Charlie out, or at least protect him."

"Why didn't he come to you? Couldn't you have done something?"

Michonne swallows. "Yeah, I could have helped." It hurts her to admit it. The guilt… "This was three years ago and I…I had…I was…going through something." She doesn't meet his eyes, but can feel his questioning stare. She ignores it. "From what we've pieced together, Charlie did something to piss off the leader. By the time Daryl found out, the leader had made a puddle of Charlie's head and was on his way back to wherever he lurks." Michonne scrubs a hand over her face, suddenly very tired.

"But you can get Daryl out now, right?"

"I could, probably. But it would be bloody, possibly require relocation and a new identity. Daryl won't leave Mama. And he refuses to even consider anything other than justice for Charlie."

They sit quietly for a long moment and then Rick says, "What were you going through three years ago?"

"That's my business." It comes out harsher than she intends.

His head turns sharply. "Oh really, cause I think you know every ugly detail of my business."

"Yeah, I do." She stands. "But you chose to tell me. I choose not to tell you." She walks up the steps and hears him call after her, "That's fucked up, Michonne. You're a cold woman."

She stops halfway up the steps. His last statement is like a knife to the heart that carries a piercing memory. Rick turns on the couch, sees her still on the steps glaring at him.

"Say something," he says. It's both a dare and a plea.

She feels the words building up inside her, angry, mean, ugly words. She presses her lips together because these words are not for Rick. He hasn't done anything to her. They're words she has said before, to someone else. But that time in her life is dead, buried.

"It's unfair, I know," she finally says. "But I can't, Rick. I just can't." She continues up the steps, knows he's still angry but is unable to do anything about it.

##

The next day, they navigate around each other. Rick feels the tension. He's walking on egg shells. He wants to apologize. She doesn't owe him anything. But he doesn't apologize because, while she doesn't owe him anything, she should want to talk to him. She should find him as easy and comfortable to talk to as he finds her. And the fact that she doesn't makes him angry…hurt. They eat separately. Michonne takes her lunch and dinner in her room under the guise of doing work. Rick takes a ride for lunch and he eats dinner at the kitchen table alone. It feels a little too much like his real life. He doesn't want to be like this, silent and brooding, not speaking his mind.

So when Michonne comes down, dressed for them to head to the bar, he has been waiting for her by the couch. As she passes him, he reaches out and touches her arm with two fingers. She looks back at him.

"I'm sorry."

She stands there for a moment, meets his eyes. "I'm sorry too."

"We're not being too convincing."

Michonne tilts her head. "Huh?"

"We're supposed to be acting like two people in love."

She smiles and things shift inside him for the better.

"What's more like two people in love than getting pissed at each other?" she asks.

Rick chuckles. "So…" He scratches his beard. "That kiss, last night…"

Michonne shakes her head. "It was just a kiss."

"You and I both know it wasn't." Rick leans against the back of the couch, folds his arms.

"So what if it wasn't? We have a job to do. At times that may require us to—"

Rick pulls her to him and kisses her. She plants her hands on his chest and he prepares for her to push him away. She doesn't, but she isn't fully kissing him yet either. He suspects she's trying to prove a point that she can kiss him and not be affected. He has a point to make too, although he doesn't know why he is trying to prove this point. What does he want from her? He doesn't know. All he knows at this minute is that he wants her. Now. Rick snakes one arm around her waist and pulls her completely against him. His tongue tastes her lips, slips between them. He feels the moment she gives in to the kiss. She moans softly, slides her finger into his hair and opens her mouth to him.

Michonne is wearing a short, black leather skirt with splits up the sides. Her top tonight is a deep purple, soft corset. On her legs are fishnets with the same knee-high stiletto boots she wore last night. Rick's hands slide down over her leather-covered ass and squeezes. He groans as he presses Michonne's hot center right against his bulge. They kiss deeper, grind against each other. God, it feels so good. He wants to be buried to the hilt inside of her. Upstairs. No time. Couch. He stands, turns to walk them to the couch, but Michonne stops him.

She breaks the kiss. "Rick," she pants, "put me down."

It takes a minute for his lust fogged brain to clear. He hadn't even realized that he'd picked up Michonne, had her legs around his waist. His hands gripped her ass under her skirt. He let her down. She takes several steps back from him. They both breathe hard. Michonne slides her skirt down, runs her hands over her hair.

Rick adjusts his erection, which shows no signs of going down. It doesn't help that Michonne stares at his crotch like she's trying to see though his jeans.

"We can't do this," she says, eyes still on his bulge.

"Why not?"

She looks at him incredulously. "Because we have a job to do."

"So?"

She sighs. "This…us sleeping together will complicate things."

"Maybe," Rick says. "Or maybe it'll uncomplicated everything."

She shakes her head. "Says the man whose marriage is falling apart as we speak."

Rick nods. "Yup, it is. But you can't tell me there isn't something here, something between us. I felt it the minute I laid eyes on you."

"Rick…what do you want me to say? I feel it, but…it's not a good idea. _I'm_ not a good idea."

"What the hell does that mean?"

Michonne throws her hands in the air. "We don't have time for this. We have to go." She turns, heads for the door. Rick remains by the couch, erection gone now. Anger and confusion shrinking it completely. As he picks up his gun belt, Michonne opens the front door. Rick sees the hand before she does because she has glanced back over her shoulder to look at him. Joe. He grabs Michonne by the throat, shoves her back inside the house, laughs at her attempts to fight him as he yells,

"Claimed!"


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** I cannot thank you all enough for all the love you have shown this story, all of my stories actually. I am so grateful and humbled by your praise. With school, my original work and Richonne it gets hard to do it all...and then try to have a social life-lol. But honestly, while I LOVE my original work, writing for Richonne is my favorite. It's so fun and that's due in large part to this wonderful fandom. So, again, I say thank you and sorry for the delay. Hope you enjoy!

 **CHAPTER 8**

Rick's gun belt isn't on so he fumbles for his colt. By the time he draws it, three men walk in the house behind Joe, who still has Michonne by the throat. A fourth man, Len, enters from the kitchen. He is all smiles, a large machete in his hand. One of the men kicks the front door closed. Joe releases Michonne with a shove. She stumbles back against the wall by the steps. Rick is by the couch. Too far away from her.

"Put your gun down, deputy," Joe says.

Rick's meets Michonne's eyes. One day and these guys already know who he is. How? Rick's finger twitches. He has a clean shot at Joe, but two of the four men with him have guns of their own. One is trained on Michonne and the other on Rick. He lowers his gun and Len snatches it, slides it in the front of his pants.

"I hope you shoot your dick off," Michonne says softly from her spot against the wall. Her comment is met with roaring laughter from the men.

Joe's laughter ends in a wicked smile. "He's gonna need that dick, sweetheart. I get you first—called claimed, 'member—Len goes, then the rest. Oh we gonna have us a nice old time with you."

"You're going to die tonight." Michonne looks Joe in the eyes. "I don't know how, but it's gonna be bad."

"Michonne," Rick says, stopping her before she says more. He gives no thought to saying her real name now. After tonight, they both will be dead, or Joe and his crew will be. An image of Carl, of Judith, flashes in his head. He knows he can't let these men leave here alive.

Joe laughs again. "I find that highly unlikely. The only dead fucks 'round here gonna be your boyfriend and…"

There's a commotion in the kitchen. Two men drag a battered Daryl into the living room and throw him at Michonne's feet. She screams and drops to her knees, pulls her brother to her, cradles him in her arms. Rick's mind is working double time. Seven men, counting Joe. Only three of them, or two and a half depending on how hurt Daryl is.

"You're a dead man!" Michonne snarls and Joe.

"I'm awright," Daryl says, but it's clear he's in serious pain.

Joe takes in the scene in front of him, turns and looks at Rick with something Rick can only describe as pity. "I'm not sure what's going on here, but I'm 100% sure she love him more than she loves you." He chuckles. "See, people underestimate me all the time. Our so called "leader" Negan, does it all the time too. Don't think I'm smart enough to steal his gang right from under him, but"—he taps his temple—"I am. Doing it as we speak. Then you come strollin' in, make a fool of my men and expect me to just let that slide. And this one"—he kicks Daryl in the stomach. Michonne doesn't scream this time, just give Joe a look so murderous, it sends a chill down Rick's spine. "This one thought I didn't notice his reaction to the things we said about her. How we were all going to shove our dicks down her throat 'til she choked. Then we were gonna butt-fuck her 'til—"

"Shut the fuck up, asshole!" Daryl spits blood at Joe's feet.

"See what I mean. He's very protective of her. I saw it, cause I'm not stupid. So I followed him straight here last night. Watched him break-in, thought 'okay, maybe I'm wrong' but after a while he leaves and she watches him all the way down the yard, makes sure her sweetheart gets back to his bike safely. I don't know who you are to each other, but I know you ain't strangers like you put on in the bar. And then, if that ain't enough, last night some guy comes into the diner with a picture of you"—he points to Rick—"says he's lookin' for his friend, Deputy Rick Grimes. Done lost his mind over a hot piece of ass, claiming to be a federal agent. 'Is that so?' I said. 'Bitch's be crazy' I said. You know, give that Shane a few drinks and he tells all." Joe laughs. "Been puttin' the hot stiffness to your wife Rick. Told me all about it. Figures you should just let bygones be bygones." All the men laugh now.

 _Fucking Shane._ Rick is going to stomp that son-of-a-bitch a new asshole the first chance he gets.

Joe rubs his hands together. "No matter, I'm here to fuck one of you, and kill two of you. Well, I'm gonna kill all three of you, but I'm gonna have my fill of her first." He nods at Michonne with a wink." So let's get this party going, huh."

Joe shoves the couch all the way forward, against the fireplace to give them more room. He gestures to the two men who dragged Daryl inside. They take hold of him and yank him away from Michonne. She screams and fights to hold onto her brother, but it's futile. Another man grabs her arms as Joe begins to undo his belt. Rick shouts, lunges forward but is brought up short by Len's machete pressing against his throat. Michonne kicks out at Joe. The stiletto heal of her boot stabs him in the thigh. He jumps back, looks at the blood.

"Wild cat," he says. "This is gonna be fun. Hold her legs."

The two men with the guns shove them in their waistbands. Each take one of her ankles while Joe kneels between Michonne's legs. Two men on Daryl. Len and his machete on Rick. Four men on Michonne. One man standing by the window, giggling and holding his crotch. Michonne screams, thrashes. Daryl—off to Rick's right—fights with the two men holding him. Rick can feel wetness trickle down his neck. His struggles against Len have caused the machete to slice him, but he doesn't care.

Joe rips at Michonne's fishnets and panties, tears them away from her body. It's the pull of his zipper that slows time down for Rick. Each click of those metal teeth coming undone is like a bomb detonating in Rick's head. The look on Michonne's face when she meets his eyes…absolute fear. But it's more than that. There's humiliation and just behind that is permission to murder all seven of them. Rick doesn't even know his hand has moved until it is locked onto Len's crotch. He pulls so hard and so quickly he feels a snap, tendons tearing, perhaps more. The pain must be so acute and devastating that Len can't even make a sound, just a choked hiccup. He drops like a bolder. But before the machete can clatter to the floor it is in Rick's hand.

He swings it in the air with such force, it whistles as he brings it down with a wet thunk into Joe's skull. Silence. Joe is still on his knees between Michonne's legs like his brain hasn't caught on that it is now two separate entities. Rick hit the man so forcefully that the machete split Joe's head clean down to his nose. Joe wavers. The man holding Michonne's arms, hollers and catches him as the dead man tips forwards. Then, all hell breaks loose. Michonne moves quickly, snatches a knife from her boot, flicks it and it lands in the chest of the man holding her right ankle. The man who caught Joe, throws the dead man aside in order to grab for the gun in the waistband of his fallen friend. Rick gets there first. He pulls the gun from the man's pants, shots him in the head. Rick pivots, aims at the other man who had held Michonne's other ankle. But the man has his gun aimed at Rick.

"Pull the trigger, asshole. I dare you." Rick's words seem to scare the man more than the gun, but he doesn't lower it. Rick glances over his shoulder. Daryl isn't faring too well with the two men he's fighting. Rick can see that his, Michonne's and Daryl's advantage could take a turn really quickly. He pulls the trigger, splatters the man's brains all over the wall and Michonne. Three left. Rick turns to the two men fighting with Daryl. One pulls out a huge knife, cuts Daryl across the chest. Rick can't get a clean shot. But turns out, they aren't the problem.

"Rick!"

He whips around at Michonne's cry to find the goofy man—the one giggling and holding his crotch earlier—with a gun to Michonne's head. He must've had it hidden.

The man looks terrified. Scared people do stupid things. He doesn't even look like he knows how to use that gun.

He stutters out, "Pa-put the ga-gun—"

The front door bangs open. Abraham is there. He isn't alone. A woman is with him. She is on one knee, rifle on her shoulder. She fires three shots, _spft, spft, spft_ , and silently drops the remaining men. The room is still for a moment. The recent events still settling. Then they all began talking at once.

"What in the holy fuck-nuts?" Agent Ford says.

"Are you alright?" says the woman with him to Michonne. She sets down her rifle and rushes to Michonne who is getting up off the floor, her clothes torn and covered with blood.

"I'm fine," Michonne says. "It's not my blood."

"You see anymore out there?" Rick asks Abraham as Michonne rushes over to check on Daryl.

"Naw. I was trying to figure out what was going on in here. I didn't have a visual on the back. Agent Williams and I"—he nods toward the woman helping Daryl to his feet—"got closer. We could here talking, but not so much what was being said. Then we heard the scream. I could see a little through that gap in the curtain, so I waited til we had a good shot. Man,"—he laughs and shakes his head as he looks at Rick—"you move fast. We almost bust in when you split that fucker's dome, but shit moved fast and I didn't want to get shot."

Rick doesn't answer just looks around, catches Michonne's eye. They nod at each other. He wants to ask if she is okay, pull her in his arms. Hold her. Now is not the time. At his feet, Len still lays, alive but unconscious.

"What are we gonna do now?" Rick asked to the room.

"Clean this shit up," Abraham says, looking around at the bodies. He pulls out his phone and makes a call.

Rick walks over to Michonne. Daryl is on his feet and being fussed over by his sister and the other woman.

"Mama does not hear a word about his," Daryl says with a stern look at Michonne. She ignores him. Rick touches her arm, gets her attention.

"You okay?" he says softly to her. She nods but he can see she is the opposite of okay.

"Hey," says the shooter that came in with Abraham. "I'm Sasha."

"Rick."

"Yeah, I know. I've been watching you for the last few days." She smiles. "Sounds creepy when I say it like that, but…"

"Good shootin'."

She shrugs. "Thanks."

"Hey," Abraham belts from the open front door. "Prescott, need you a minute." Michonne heads over to agent Ford as she pulls out her cell and makes a call. Sasha follows, leaving Rick and Daryl alone by the kitchen.

"You okay?" Rick asks. Daryl nods, looks over at Joe's body. Rick looks too then back at Daryl. "What's gonna happen?" Rick asks, realizing he just murdered several people in front of a federal agent.

"With TWD or the FEDs?"

"Both."

Daryl wipes a spot of blood from his mouth, leans against the wall and closes his eyes. "Don't know 'bout TWD, but Chonne and Abe'll take care of the bodies."

"Just like that?" Rick leans against the wall beside Daryl.

"Justified. In the line of duty. Self-defense."

Rick looks down at his hand, the hand that wielded the machete. Looks at Joe's body again. "Don't know 'bout that. I went too far."

"Anybody would'a done it."

"Not that." Rick shakes his head. "I lost it."

Daryl looks at him. Rick doesn't meet Daryl's eyes, but he feels the other man's stare. "You split a man's head in half to save my sister. Far as I'm concerned, we brothers now. Fuck what anybody else thinks." He walks off into the kitchen, holding his side.

Rick watches as Michonne, Abe and Sasha handle the scene. An ambulance, no siren or lights, arrives and carries away Len. Other agents arrive. An Asian guy has a quietly intense conversation with Michonne. After a moment or two he throws his hands in the air in resignation, points to a black case in the corner then hugs her tightly all while shaking his head. When they step apart, the man directs his crew. The team gathers up the bodies. This is all done silently and efficiently. When they start on Joe's body, Rick steps from the wall, an idea springing to his mind.

"Leave him," he says quietly, but everyone hears. All movement stops. Even Daryl comes from the kitchen.

"Why?" Michonne asks.

"Got an idea that might get us closer to findin' out who the leader is and will get Daryl out of TWD altogether."

"Oh really?" Abraham says. "Can't wait to hear this."

Before Rick can speak, Daryl cuts in. "I know who the leader is." All eyes turn to him. "If Joe wasn't bullshittin', and I don't see a reason he would, he said Negan is the man. I know who Negan is."

"You do?" Michonne asks incredulously. "So why haven't you ID'd him before now?"

Daryl runs a hand through his hair. "Cause ain't no way I would'a guessed he was the leader. He always around, smilin' like a pretty asshole. Usually got a bunch of women draped on him. Don't nobody ever treat him like he in charge. They respect him, I can see that, but they don't act like he the leader or nothin'." Daryl shakes his head and gives a small laugh that has no humor. "It's fuckin' brilliant. Hide right in plain sight. Charlie…Charlie probably never even knew he was going up against the leader of the gang. Jus' thought it was some smilin' shit-face…"

"Was he in the bar last night?" Rick asks.

"Yeah. Dark hair, black jacket, red scarf, smilin' like a coverboy asshole."

Rick plays back his panoramic scan of the bar, but can't picture this guy.

"I remember him," Michonne says. "Didn't pay him much attention. But I remember he didn't look too happy with Joe and his boys. I chalked it up to him being afraid like the others in the bar." She shakes her head. "You're right, Daryl, it is brilliant. I think Joe and his crew, including you, were not long for this world. He was probably planning to kill you all very soon.

"I'ma kill that mutha-fucka," Daryl shouts.

"Hang on." Rick puts a hand up to stop a charging Daryl. "If we do what I'm thinkin', he might just approach us. We want this to be on our terms, right?"

Daryl takes a deep breath, winces from a pain in his side and says, "So spit it out."

Rick explains his plan and twenty minutes later they pull up in a black Suburban SUV down the street from the bar. Rick and Michonne sit in the back. Abraham and Sasha sit up front. Daryl reluctantly stays at the house. Michonne was the only one to convince him. Even with that, Rick would not be surprised if the man has followed them. If this plan goes as expected, there will be no need for any weapons. All the same, they are prepared.

"I'm gonna cover you two from the roof of that building over there," Sasha says and moves to exit the truck.

"Hold up," Abraham says. "You forget something?"

She rolls her eyes, plants a kiss on his lips, and slips out the truck. Rick watches Abraham as he stares after her until she disappears between two buildings. The redhead doesn't seem to breathe again until Sasha is in position on the rooftop, flashing the thumbs up.

"Everybody," Abe say to Rick and Michonne as well as into the mic inside his watch, "keep your head on a swivel."

"Always do," Michonne says and climbs out the truck.

As Rick exits he speaks to Abe. "If this thing goes south, we're killin' everybody."

"Wouldn't expect anything less," Abraham answers.

Rick meets Michonne at the back of the truck and lifts the hatch. She grabs a weapon so ridiculous, Rick has to chuckle. He realizes this must be what she was in a heated discussion about with the Asian agent, what was in the black case.

"Don't you think that's a bit much?" he asks her.

She eyes the scene in the back of the truck. "And that's not?" She gestures to the dead body.

"Point made," he says. "You even know how to use that?"

"Yes. Extremely well."

Rick looks at her for a long moment torn between shock and adoration. "You scare me a little."

"Only a little?" she says with a raised eyebrow and a smirk on her lips. "Come on. Let's get this done."

Rick pulls Joe's body from the back of the truck and tosses the limp form over his shoulder. He and Michonne head toward the bar. A few bikers are out front, but none stop them as they pass, only gawk. Rick kicks open the door with enough force break the top hinge. Silence rings out around the crowded place. Together, Rick and Michonne step inside. Slowly, Michonne unsheathes the katana on her back with a metallic scrape that seems to go on forever. Rick throws Joe's body on the floor and does a slow scan of the bar.

He spots Negan on his left, sitting at a table in the corner with a woman on his lap. Rick lets his eyes roll right past the leader as if he is no more important that the beer Negan is holding.

"Last night," Rick begins, "I can him here just to have a drink with my lady. That's all. But it seems that was too much to ask. I thought I made my point clear last night. It's obvious some of you have a problem understandin' English. Joe and crew did. Now they all dead and Joe here got two heads instead of one. So I'ma say it plain to help keep the rest of you from gettin' your wigs split. Don't. Fuck. With. Me."

He scans the room again, catches Negan's eye and the man winks at Rick. That's when Rick knows his plan has worked. The leader of The Walking Dead will be reaching out to them soon. Rick has no doubt.

Michonne turns and heads out of the bar. Rick takes a minute to ensure no one is stupid enough to try anything. He follows Michonne out. As they walk back toward the Suburban with windows so dark Abraham isn't at all identifiable inside, Rick's phone rings. He answers, still surveilling the area.

"Hey, Carl." Rick smiles into the phone.

" _Dad_ …" The voice is so faint Rick stops walking as if that will help him hear better.

"Carl?"

"Dad…there are men here…"

Rick sticks a finger in his left ear, presses the phone harder against his right ear. "Carl, what's wrong?" By this point, Michonne is at his side, concern on her face.

"There are men here, dad. They…they look like bikers," Carl whispers.

Rick's blood runs cold. "Are they in the house? How many, Carl?"

"Yes…they…they're fighting Shane. I don't know how many…"

"Where are you, Carl? Where's your mom? Is Judith with you?"

"I'm upstairs with Judith. I don't know where Mom is."

"Listen to me. Do exactly as I say, Carl. Get my gun. Take your sister and hide. Shoot anybody you don't recognize. Understand?"

"Ye-yeah, okay."

"Repeat it back to me, Carl."

"Get Judith—"

"No. Get my gun first, Carl!"

"Okay, okay. Gun, Judith, hide. I…I got it, Dad."

"Go now, Carl! I'm on my way."

Rick does an about-face, walks to the first biker he reaches and punches the man so hard the biker falls off his motorcycle, out cold. Rick climbs on the bike and doesn't have to ask Michonne to hop on. She is behind him, on her phone barking out orders for back up to rendezvous at Ricks ex-wife's house in King County. He is vaguely aware that the Suburban is in tearing along behind him. Blind anger and fiery fear propels him to push the motorcycle to speeds over 100 miles per hour. He has to get there, get to them…there is no alternative.

 **A/N:** Another cliffhanger...don't hate me.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

 **A/N: Thank you all for sticking with me. I'm so sorry for the delay. My renaissance class is giving me the blues. I have 3 more weeks left and will hopefully be able to update more frequently. Anyway, thank you to all of my readers and reviewers. I hope you enjoy this update!**

Wind whips Michonne's dreads away from her face as Rick races towards King County. She presses her face between his shoulder blades just to be able to breathe. She won't dare tell him to slow down. He wouldn't hear her even if she tried. As they cross into King County, she is able to get his attention. She has to hit his shoulder several times though.

Michonne gestures for him to pull over, shouts it in his ear. She hops off the bike the minute it stops because she knows Rick will not understand why she wants him to pull over. Sure enough he shouts at her the instant they stop.

"Rick," Michonne says calmly. "We cannot ride up there, guns blazing, making more noise than the law should allow. We don't know how many men we're dealing with. From here on, we need to go on foot." She can see he understands this, but his need to be there now, twenty minutes ago, is driving him.

"Let's move then!"

"Wait," she says. Abraham pulls up behind them. He and Sasha jump out the truck. Michonne isn't surprised to see her brother roar to a stop behind Abraham's truck. She knew he wouldn't let them head off to that bar without being close behind, no matter what she said. "How far are we from your wife's house?"

"A few blocks that way." Rick points and is already walking in that direction.

Michonne lets him walk ahead of her. She takes the 9mm handgun Sasha gives her. "When we get to the house," Michonne says, "Sasha, find a spot high up. Pick off anybody you can. Daryl, you and Abe head for the back."

"What are you gonna do?" Daryl asks.

"I'm with Rick…and I get the feeling he's going right through the front door."

888888

When they get half a block away they run into agents Rhee, Espinosa and Williams, Sasha's brother. The three had taken cover behind a large oak tree. Michonne duck-walks over to them, keeping her head low. Rick is right behind her.

"What've got?" she asks.

"Eight bikes," Tyresse says. "Two men out front so that leaves six inside or less if there are men out back."

Michonne nods. "Ty, you and Glenn—" six gunshots rip through the quiet night. Rick snatches the 6-inch blade from Michonne's boot and takes off running. He's on one of the two men out front before the man even knows what has hit him. Rick jams the knife in the man's neck and rides him down to the ground. The other man turns, sees Rick, sees his dead friend. He draws, but is dropped by Sasha's silent rifle before he can pull his trigger. Rick bolts up the front steps, Michonne on his heels. He kicks the front door off the hinges. A shotgun blast just barely misses him. Rick and Michonne flatten themselves against the sides of the door, one on either side. The rest of the team fans out, takes cover. Some head around back.

The shotgun wielder blasts again. The barrel eases out the door. The shooter inches it slowly, waiting for retaliation. Rick looks at Michonne and nods. She slips the handgun Sasha gave her into her boot. Slowly, she unsheathes the katana, waits for the barrel to emerge a few inches more, until she sees the man's boot. She thrusts, yanks. The shotgun clatters to the porch. The shooter follows. He isn't dead. Rick takes the shotgun, kicks the man in the head, knocks him out. He stomps on the man's hand. There's a loud crack as one or more of the shooter's fingers break under Rick's boot.

"Just in case he wakes up," Rick says.

Michonne peers around the corner, into the house. There is no more gunfire, but she can hear a tussle either deeper inside the house or in backyard. She gestures to Rick that the coast is clear, sheaths the katana and grabs the gun from her boot. She goes in high, aims her gun up the flight of stairs. Nothing. Rick goes in low and to the right, aims around the door and into the small dining room. Clear. Michonne takes a second to marvel at how fluidly they work together. It's like she's with Abraham, her partner for years, the way they instinctively know which way to cover.

Rick steps in quietly, passes the dining room. Michonne turns, keeps her back to the open front door. Makes sure no one sneaks up on them. She walks backward, eyes alert, ears tuned for any sound. The scuffle she heard earlier inside or out back is silent now.

"Fuck," Rick hisses as they reach the living room. Michonne glances over her shoulder, sees what caused Rick's reaction. Shane lays, bloody and unmoving, just inside the horseshoe archway. Before Rick sees to his friend, he does a quick sweep of the room. Clear. He takes a knee beside Shane, touches the prone man's neck with two fingers. From the shake of his head and the soft yet violent curse, Michonne gathers Shane is dead. She keeps watch at the archway. There is blood in the kitchen, on the floor by the refrigerator. That is all she can see without stepping further inside. She wants to investigate, but she can't leave Rick. She won't. He is too distracted by Shane's body to fully watch his own back. He loved this man. She knows this, can feel it. Betrayal or not. She remembers the term Uncle Shane. That's a bond that goes beyond blood.

"You stupid son-of-a-bitch," Rick whispers, voice trembling.

"Rick," she whispers. "We have to keep moving. We have to clear the house."

She hears a noise in the kitchen. Rick hears it too. He is on his feet. They move into the brightly-lit, cheerful room. Abraham, Tyresse and Glenn are at the backdoor. The noise she heard was one of them prying open the backdoor. Everyone lowers their weapons at the sight before them. There's a choking noise behind her. She knows Rick sees it now, sees Lori on the floor in a pool of blood, a kitchen knife still in her chest. Rick's gun clatters to the floor as he dives for her.

"Call an ambulance!" He grabs Lori, lifts her into his lap. Abraham is on his cell calling for a bus, no lights, no sirens.

Bloody bubbles foam out of Lori's mouth. Michonne has seen this kind of injury before. No doubt the woman has a punctured lung. She has slashes on her arms and hands. Defense wounds. She fought back. Good, Michonne thinks, wishes the outcome would have been different. She wants to give Rick more time to grieve, she really does, but not now. Not here.

"Rick." She crouches in front of him. Lori's gaze is fixed toward the ceiling.

"I forgive you," Rick mutters over and over until it sound like one word.

Michonne places a hand against his cheek, but before she can speak, a gunshot ring out.

Someone shouts from upstairs. "Hey!" It sounds like Glenn. "We need help up here!"

Rick jerks at the sound gun. Slides Lori's body to the floor as gently as he can and rises. There is a wash of guilt and terror waging war on his face. His kids. Michonne can see his thoughts. In his blinding grief he momentarily forgot about Carl and Judith. Parts of him are so clear to her. He wants to get up those steps faster than flight will take him, but something un-mendable will break in him if his kids are hurt.

Still, he takes the stairs two at a time, meets Glenn and Tyresse at the top.

"What," he wheezes out, "you f-found my kids?"

Glenn still has his weapon out, nods toward the end of the hallway. The attic ladder is down. Two men lay dead at the bottom of the steps.

"You do that?" Michonne asks.

"No. They were dead when we got up here. Went to get a better look and…" he points to the dark opening up into the attic. "Somebody took a shot at us."

Rick takes a step down the hall, dips low so he can see get a better look up into the dark attic. Michonne follows.

"Carl?"

Three more shots fire, thump into one of the men at the foot of the steps. Rick and Michonne jump backward, flatten themselves against the wall.

"Carl! It's me, son. Put the gun down."

Click. Click. Click. He's out. Three shots when they were down stairs. Three just then. They hear the click, release and spin of the cylinder. He's reloading.

"Shit." Rick takes off, runs up the ladder and dives on Carl. By the time Michonne is up there, Rick his struggling with Carl to get the gun away from the boy.

"Rick, he's in shock."

He gets the gun away from Carl and slides it across the floor, out of reach. Carl is sobbing, still struggling with his father. Michonne crouches in front of the boy, places her hands on his clammy face.

"Carl, look at me. Take a deep breath. Come on, you can do it."

He hitches in a breath, blows it out.

"Where's Judith?" Rick asks, but Carl is too far into his shock to answer.

"Go," Michonne says, "I have him."

Rick releases Carl. The boy slumps against the wall like a sack of skin. The attic is like most, a place where things go to be forgotten. Boxes, mementos, old furniture. Michonne grabs the first thing she finds in an old box and fans him with it.

"Judith!" Rick shouts. Nothing. "Judes! Where are you, sweetheart?" He circles the room once and then heads for the attic steps, all the while shouting her name.

Thump, thump…" _Daaaadeee"_

"Rick!" Michonne shouts. He stops. "Did you hear that?"

Thump. "Daddy?"

Rick sucks in a breath. "Where are you, Jude?" He turns in a tight circle in the attic, takes a second look at every place that could hide a two year old. And then Carl moves. His arm lifts and he points to a dusty old blue dresser in the far back corner, then he drops his arm as if the gesture cost him severely.

"Rick." Michonne points in the same direction Carl pointed.

Frantic, Rick tosses boxes and other objects out of his way to get to the dresser. He slides open the bottom drawer and up pops Judith.

Her lip pokes out. " _Daddy_ , I seek-hide with Carl. But he lost me. Then he was loud. I don't wanna play no more. I want mommy." Rick scoops her out of the dresser, holds her to him while she cries. His body trembles. Michonne can see he is hanging on by a thread.

She turns her attention back to Carl. His breathing his steadier, but he is still too pale and sweaty. It's stuffy in the cluttered attic, though. She considers it progress when she can get Carl to his feet. They head down the steps slowly. Someone has put sheets over the dead men. Rick presses Judith's face into this his chest, walks down the steps and right out the front door. Michonne keeps her hands on Carl's shoulders, guides out the front too. There is nothing they need to see further inside the house.

Outside, the ambulance sits silently. No lights. In a daze, Carl looks around. Michonne can read him too. Her instant connection with this man and his children is unnerving. Even from behind him, with her hands still on his shoulders she can see that he is coming out of his shock and putting the pieces together. His mom isn't outside. There's an ambulance, but it's not ready to leave at a moment's notice. Carl's head whips this way and that, making sense of what he is and isn't seeing. His mom would be out here, looking for him, hugging him…if she were able. If she was hurt the EMT's would be bustling, not sitting at the back of the truck, wrapping a man's hand—the man Rick stomped on. No one is working on his mom because there is nothing to be done for her.

Carl whirls around, locks eyes with Michonne. "Mom?" She swallows and shakes her head. Carl collapse into Michonne. She holds him, anchors him. She is reminded of his age, just how young his is as he cries like only the loss of a mother can make you cry, with all your childhood love. Rick, still has Judith. He has his cellphone up to his ear, speaking to someone but ends the call and rushes to his son. He hands Judith to Michonne, switching children. Surprisingly, the toddler clings to Michonne. Children can sense when things are serious. Michonne walks away, allows Rick to comfort his son. She takes Judith over to the large tree in the front yard.

Neighbors are out now. Even though there aren't any lights or sirens, no one looks like a police officer, except for the two deputies who pulled up a few moments ago, nosey neighbors always know when something juicy is going on. Over by the tree, Michonne tries to think of something to distract Judith. Softly, she begins to sing. The song just comes to her and she's halfway into it before recognizes it, before she realizes why she chose the silly song. It was his favorite. Tears pool in her eyes. She hears his voice, sees him dancing.

Judith begins to sing too. Her arms still around Michonne's neck, chin still resting on Michonne's shoulder. "…listen to your heartbeat fix you up ready to go…time for your checkup. It's okay if you giggle. This will only tickle a little. Time for your checkup, time for your checkup." They finish quietly. Both of them too sad to sing it how it's done on Doc McStuffins.

"I want mommy," Judith whines.

"I know, sweetie." Michonne rubs her back, walks her slowly around the tree until she sees Rick approaching. He has gotten Carl calm enough to sit in the back of one of the sheriff cruisers. Michonne is reluctant to hand Judith over. She is warm and familiar in a way that is wonderful and wretchedly heartbreaking all at once. Before she can dwell on this, a powder blue pickup truck barrels around the corner and screeches to a halt in the middle of the street. Michonne recognizes the man who leaps out of the truck as the owner of the pizza place. T-Dog stands in the middle of the street, hand on his bald head, face broken in despair. Rick walks over, gestures for Carl to get out of the cruiser.

T-Dog is full of emotion when he is face to face with Rick. Michonne is impressed by his ability to suppress his anguish in front of the children. Rick hands over Judith. Again the little girl goes into another's arms without any fuss.

"You're going to Uncle T's house," Rick says, placing a hand on the back of Carl's neck.

"I don't wanna go, Dad. I wanna stay with you, at your place."

"I'm not going home," Rick says. "I'm gonna be right behind ya'll. Okay?"

"But…" Carl rub's his eyes. "But why can't we go to your house?"

Michonne steps up, places a hand on Carl's shoulder. "It may not be safe there. The men who did this may know where your father lives." She looks Carl in the eyes. "We will be right behind you. Give us thirty minutes to wrap things up here."

Carl nods. Before he can walk to T-Dog's truck, Rick pulls him into another hug. "What's gonna happen to Mom? To Shane?" he mumbles into Rick's chest.

"I'm gonna take care of your Mom and Uncle Shane too. Don't worry." He steps away from Carl and guides him into T-Dog's truck. They put Judith in the middle, strapping her in with a seatbelt for the three block journey. It seems all T-Dog can do is squeeze Rick's shoulder. Jaw set, eyes misty, T-Dog drives off with Rick's children. Rick stand in the middle of the street, watching the truck go. Michonne comes up behind him. The instant the truck turns the corner, out of sight, Rick collapse. She knew this was coming, saw it in the way his hands shook as he handed over Judith, the way his jaw quivered when he hugged Carl.

She goes down with him, on her knees, cradles him. She has never seen a man break so thoroughly, so unabashedly. It is loud and ugly and uncomfortable and beautiful and cathartic and devastating. She cries too, because for some reason, her heart is tied to his now. When his is broken, hers is too.

She doesn't know how long they are like this, perhaps a few moments. Maybe longer. It doesn't matter. People have given them a wide berth. She's happy for it. Nothing she hates more than someone trying to shush sorrow, stifle emotion. Let it out. She hears that thought and thinks how hypocritical she is. She has done nothing but shush her sorry, stifle her emotion. But she is different.

They sit quietly in the street, their backs against the sheriff's car. Both are drained, but there is work to be done. One of the deputies takes a tentative look at them, peeping around the trunk of the car. Rick sees and waves the guy around.

"What's up, Stokes?" Rick's voice is gruff.

"Um…" The dark-skinned, middle-aged deputy fiddles with this hat as he comes around the car to stand in front of Rick. Even in the dark, Michonne can see the redness of his eyes. He's been crying too. "So…um, listen. Me and Basset were talking and, um…well…"

"Spit it out, Stokes."

"Well, we in need of a sheriff."

Rick looks up at Deputy Stokes, obvious shock on his face. Michonne can see that this thought never crossed his mind.

He shakes his head, runs a hand through his hair. "Look like you two got a decision to make."

Stokes gapes at Rick. It's clear to Michonne that neither of the men she saw for all of five minutes on the one time she was inside the sheriff's department were capable of handling the position.

"But…" Deputy Stokes begins. "We…we need you, Rick. You was always the best sheriff and I know you got fired, but in light of everything that done happened, well, I can't see you not being able to get your job—"

Rick stands so abruptly that the deputy takes a step backward. "It's gotta be you or Bassett…or they elect somebody new."

"But Rick, you—"

"No, Stokes!"

Michonne stands, unsure what Rick is about to do. She doesn't want him to hit this poor man who is only asking a valid question. Rick doesn't hit the deputy, however, only gestures behind him at the black bag being wheeled out on a gurney and into the coroner's van.

"A lot of people are going to die because of what happened here tonight," Rick says in a quiet, eerily calm voice. "And I can't be sheriff when I kill them."


	10. Chapter 10

**BLURRED LINES**

 **Chapter 10**

Michonne cell phone buzzes in her back pocket. She stands from where she has been sitting in silence beside Rick on T-Dog's back steps. She walks away from Rick, further into the dark backyard and looks at the phone. _SSA Monroe_ lights up the screen. Michonne sighs and taps the green accept.

"Ma'am," Michonne says.

"Report, agent. Because what I'm hearing is not good. So, tell me your side."

Michonne takes a deep breath. "At approximately twenty-two hundred hours, civilian Grimes and myself were preparing to make another appearance at the local bar where TWD congregates. We were accosted in our living quarters by a sub-section of the gang—approximately seven men. It is then that we learned our identities had been exposed by sheriff Walsh."

"Is your cover blown?" supervisory special agent Deanna Monroe asks.

Michonne pinches the bridge of her nose. "I…I don't know, ma'am. I know this is a complete cluster-fuck right now, but we had no time to move, or even think the gang knew about the Grimes' family. We literally fought our way out of the situation with the sub-section and got alerted to the incident going down at the Grimes resident. If I had a moment in between to think, to consider, I would have—"

"Enough, agent. I don't need a litany on what you would have done. I understand. Have the children been moved, protected?"

"For now, they are safe. Rick—civilian Grimes—will relocate them to Florida with his parents after the funerals. I'm asking that every agent in and around our area be plain-clothes, biker-look if possible, on the off chance that my cover is still solid. I'd also like to send agents with the Grimes children and get the Florida bureau to assign agents until this is over." The guilt over her part in this will live with her for the rest of her life.

"Three agents to travel with them," Monroe says. "Your choice. I'll contact the Florida bureau for replacements. I expect a full debriefing tomorrow. That better include details on why you felt the need to use a katana in the field."

Michonne swallows. How does she know _everything_? "Yes, ma'am." She ends the call, glad to have been let off relatively easy about the sword. She fires off a quick text to agent Williams, Rhee and Espinosa asking if they'd be willing to escort the Grimes children to Florida. She gets back three yeses before she makes it back over to Rick, still sitting silently on the porch steps.

Michonne doesn't join him this time. She leans against the railing, looks up at the stars. They are so bright in the south. The kids are asleep, T-Dog too. The house is quiet but she finds it so very loud.

"You should get some sleep," she whispers, but still seems to startle Rick. He looks at her like he has just noticed her presence. His jaw is set. His eyes are narrowed. He's angry. Michonne swallows and says, "I'm sorry. It's…it's a small meaningless word in comparison with what happened tonight. But I am sorry."

His face clears some, but he doesn't speak, only returns his gaze to the dark yard and the trees at the edge of T-Dog's property.

"I know you're angry, Rick."

"Yeah," he says in a gravelly voice.

"You have every right to be. We'll get these guys. All of them. But I can't let you go off on a murdering spree. I know that's what you're thinking."

He scrubs a hand over his face, rakes it through his hair. "That's not what I'm thinkin'. Should be what I'm thinkin'. But what's been going through my mind for the last hour is so much more fucked up than that."

Michonne sits on the step beside him, waits patiently for him to continue. He takes his time.

"I'm still angry…with her."

 _Oh_ , Michonne thinks. This has to do with Lori.

"I don't forgive her. I know I said it, but I wanted her to hear it. If there was some part of her left in there, I wanted her to hear me say that I forgave her. She wanted it so bad. But I don't forgive her. I don't forgive Shane. I keep thinkin' how none of this would've happened if Lori hadn't slept with Shane. I would've never attacked him. Would've never gotten suspended. Would've never been demoted. You may have still come to town lookin' for me, but there's no way you would've been able to convince me to leave my family and pretend to be in a biker gang…even with the problems me and Lori had. No one in this town would've believed I'd do somethin' like that. But once she irreparably broke our marriage, it all fell into place. It's fucked up to be thinkin' this 'cause they're dead and it's petty and mean for me to still feel like this, but I do."

He is breathing hard by the time he finishes. Michonne sits quietly, waiting to see if he will speak again. When he doesn't, she says, "Your feelings aren't wrong. They're yours. You have to feel them until you don't anymore. Death isn't some great eraser that wipes away all sins. The living still have to carry the anger, betrayal and resentment felt when the person was alive, only now there's guilt and sadness and heartbreak. Feel your feelings, Rick, for as long as you need to no matter how fucked up they may be. When you want to talk about them, I'll be here to listen." She stands, pats him on the shoulder and heads inside to try and catch a few hours of sleep on the couch.

 ****Two Weeks Later****

A single knuckle wrap on the door wakes Michonne with a start. Her mom's voice breeches the room through the bedroom door.

"Chonnie, you gonna sleep the day away, or you gonna be productive? Don't make me have to come back up here."

Michonne rolls over, looks at the clock. 7:42 am. Sleep the day away? She sighs and sits up. Her internal clock usually wakes her at 5:30, no matter what her night was like, but being back home, back in this bed reverts her to childhood when she slept until 8 am every weekend. She grabs her phone from the nightstand. Three texts are waiting for her. Daryl, Glenn and Abraham. None from Rick. Not one word from him in thirteen days. It was a tough pill to swallow, but about 7 days after he left for Florida with his kids and no word from him, she knew he was out. Not only was he out, but he wanted nothing else to do with her. She accepts this. Doesn't blame him. And yet…she checks her phone constantly.

After a quick shower, she slips on yoga pants and a tank-top then heads down to the kitchen. Daryl is at the table hunched over a massive amount of food in front of him. He still eats like someone is about to take his plate. They have tried to break him of the habit, but some things go too deep. It's why their mom over feeds him. She wants him to know that he will never be hungry as long as there is life in her body. Michonne sees Daryl's face whenever he is presented with a buffet all to himself. It's like only then does he understand how much he is loved. Words were never the key to him. Her thoughts are confirmed when their mom places three more pancakes on Daryl's plate and he closes his eyes as if in prayer.

Because she loves messing with her brother, and she's feeling a bit nostalgic, Michonne walks into the kitchen and snatches a pancake off Daryl's plate.

"Ma! She took my pancake! Give it back!"

Michonne barely gets one bite before it is ripped out of her hand and Daryl shoves it into his mouth.

"Cut it out, you two," Ophelia Prescott says, pointing at her children with a spatula. "Stay off your brother's plate, Chonnie. You have your own food."

"He's got enough for seven people." Michonne sits across from Daryl. "Why are you up so early anyway?"

"I'm always up early," Daryl says around a mouthful of food.

Before Michonne can call him out for lying, their mom cuts in while flipping a pancake. "He just got here. Probably been up under some skirt all night and ain't been to sleep yet."

Judging by the pinking of his cheeks, Ophelia hit the nail on the head. Michonne mouth's "who" to him. He mouths back, "later" and continues to eat. But Michonne thinks she knows who the woman is and smirks which makes Daryl scowl.

Ophelia places a less loaded plate in front of Michonne and takes a seat between her two kids. She is a petite woman. Ample bosom, curvaceous hips with a short, neat afro. Michonne gets her height, coloring and build from her father.

Ophelia looks at Michonne then at Daryl. "Okay, spill it."

Michonne stops chewing, Daryl too. "Spill what," she asks.

"Both my kids are home in the middle of the week. And you, Chonnie, with a suitcase? Something's wrong. Spill it." Ophelia waits patiently, sips her tea.

"Go'on, Daryl. Why you here?" Michonne says. "It better be to lay low, get a haircut and some of daddy's clothes so you can look different on the rare occasions you need to go out."

Ophelia's eyes widen. "Why he need to lay low and look different.

"He's supposed to be dead, but he's been avoiding me for two weeks because he knows I'm going to make him change his look and go to a safe house."

Daryl glares at Michonne, but she knows a sure-fire way to get him to fall in line is to tell on him like they are kids again.

"Do I even want to know why you're faking like you're dead?" their mom asks.

"Charlie," he says.

It's all he has to say. Ophelia shed a river of tears the year her son joined that gang. She was also crying for another reason, crying for her daughter at that time too. Michonne can see that old fear creeping over her mother again. It was a tough year all around when Daryl joined TWD. She doesn't want to think about that now.

"You caught the man who killed Charlie?" Ophelia asks.

Daryl shakes his head. "No."

"We're close," Michonne says.

"No we ain't."

Michonne sets her fork down and meets her brother's eyes. "We are close. Closer than we've ever been. You're just pissed because I got you out of the gang."

"He's out?" Ophelia leans forward, looks at both her children in turn.

"Yeah," Michonne answers while Daryl glowers at her. "I made it so they think he's dead. That's why he needs to cut his hair and change the way he dresses. He needs to look different. Drive a car and not a motorcycle. Maybe move here, to Atlanta until this is done completely."

"You can stay right here, baby." Ophelia squeezes Daryl's hand.

He sends her a tight smile. "Thank you, Ma, but—"

"No buts about it. You're staying." She pushes back her chair and stands. "Now let me go get my haircutting kit. Meet me in the powder room when you're done eating."

They sit quietly as their mother leaves the room. Michonne knows her brother won't say a word until they hear Ophelia's footsteps over their head. She has sonar for hearing and as long as she is on the same floor, she will hear any and everything said.

"That was seriously fucked up!" Daryl hisses, obviously still not trusting the ceiling between him and his mother being enough to muffle his words.

"I knew you wouldn't say no to her and if for some reason you did, she wouldn't take no for an answer. Sorry, not sorry."

"You think you gonna cut me out of this?" He stands, takes his empty plate to the sink and begins to wash it. "No fuckin' way! He was my nephew not yours!"

Michonne stares at his back. When she doesn't speak, he must replay his words, realize how fucked up they were and turns to face her.

"I'm sorry. I ain't mean it like that." He looks down at his shoes.

"I'm not shutting you out, Daryl. I just want you to be alive to actually help me."

"I don't need to cut my hair and hide here under Ma's apron."

"You don't need to be in Union either. You don't need to be riding around on your bike, letting people see you. Three years, Daryl and you're finally out. I know the sacrifice you made. I'm not going to take this guy down without you. But you have to trust me. My investigation is stalled. I've been back to that bar at least half a dozen times. No one will even look at me. It's not because I've been made either. They would've just killed me if they knew I was a FED. That blonde chick, Jessie, behind the bar was more than happy to tell me that I'm poison. I'm a woman and I'm linked to Rick, a former sheriff who killed eight of their men and, in their minds, cause them to kill an active sheriff. Maybe I can get back in with Rick but he's gone. And now…now…I don't know what to do." She throws her hands in the air and lets them flop down to her lap.

"You ain't heard from him at all?"

Michonne shakes her head.

"You called him?"

"No. I was waiting for him to reach out."

Daryl squints at her. "You ain't that stupid are you? Yeah, you are."

"I'm not stupid. I was giving him time to grieve."

"He probably thinkin' the same thing. _She'll call_ ," Daryl says in a stupid voice. "Both of ya'll dumb as fuck."

"Shut up," she says, but begins to wonder if Daryl is right. "No," she says. "He would've called by now. I have to go on the assumption that he's out. That he wants nothing more to do with me. Can't say I blame—"

"Who doesn't want anything more to do with you?" Ophelia asks as she enters the kitchen with a leather barber's bag.

Michonne glances at Daryl with a plea in her eyes. She does not want to talk about Rick with her mom. Ophelia has a way of seeing right through the bullshit and zeroing in on the truth. Michonne is not in the mood or mind space to be read like a wide opened book.

"Some guy," Daryl says. "Ain't good enough for her. Plus, get this, Ma…he's a white boy."

Ophelia snorts. "I know it's hard to tell under all that dirt, but you're a white boy too."

Daryl gasps and looks down at his hands. "You don't say?"

"Get your simple behind in this bathroom, boy, so I can make you look halfway decent."

Michonne sends him a silent "thanks" as he follows their mom into the powder room.

 ****Two Days Later****

Michonne jogs down the steps. "I got it, Ma." She pulls the front door open and sucks in a breath of surprise.

Rick.

Michonne stops, stares at him. He stares at her. He's wearing a blue denim shirt and black jeans. His hair is mussed like he has been running his hand through it. He looks good, well, still sad and angry, but he's been eating. Rick smiles sheepishly at her. She returns it, sweeps her hair off her shoulder.

"You two gonna grin at each other all day, or you gonna invite your friend in, Chonnie?"

Michonne starts at the sound of her mother's voice. Ophelia wears a smirk on her lips as she stands a few feet behind her daughter. Michonne steps aside. Rick enters, a blush on his cheeks and his hand extended to Michonne's mom.

"How do you do, ma'am? I'm Rick Grimes."

"Oh, so you're Civilian Grimes?" she takes his hand, meets his eyes, but speaks to Michonne. "This the white boy your brother was telling me about?"

"Ma, don't start," Michonne warns.

Rick smiles. "Well, I am a white boy, ma'am. But probably not the one in question."

Ophelia raises an eyebrow, looks Rick up and down. "Well if you aren't, you should be."

" _Ma_."

Ophelia shoos Michonne with her hand, then returns her attention to Rick. "It's nice to meet you, Civilian Grimes. Come on in the kitchen. I'll fix you some breakfast."

"That's alright, ma'am. I'm not hungry."

"But you'll eat anyway," she says over her should as she heads to the kitchen.

"Yes, ma'am."

Michonne shakes her head. "Sorry about that. She is hard to say no to."

"So that's where you get it."

They stand in the living room, an awkward silence creeps through the space until Rick breaks it.

"Your brother called me," he says, while looking at his feet.

Michonne suppresses an urge to call Daryl in the room so she can choke him, but she only says, "Did he?"

"Yep. Called me a bunch of dumbasses. Call you a bunch of stupid asses. Told me to get my dumbass to Atlanta or he'd personally shoot me in the face."

"And I meant it," Daryl says from the middle of the steps. He's looking over the banister down into the living room at them.

Michonne can see Rick is visibly taken aback by Daryl's new look. His hair is roughly an inch long and died dark brown. He is clean shaven and well just…clean. Daryl walks down the steps and shake's Rick's hand.

"Good to see you, man."

"Thanks."

"C'mon, lets get some food and talk."

"In a minute," Rick says. "I need to talk to your sister."

"Aight," Daryl says and leaves the living room. When he is in the kitchen, out of sight, Rick takes Michonne's hand. Slowly, they move toward each other until their arms are wrapped around one another.

"I'm sorry I didn't call you," Michonne whispers, finding this embrace both terrifying and life altering.

"Same," Rick says. "I needed…needed time, but I needed to talk to you too."

They step apart and meet each other's eyes. "I don't know what to do," Michonne says. "But I know that whatever we do now, we have to do together."

"That's why I'm here. I need you."

Michonne opens her mouth to say something she is probably going to regret, but is saved.

"Breakfast is ready," Ophelia says from the kitchen. "Don't make me call you two again."

Michonne smiles at Rick. They take a moment to stare at each other again. "We'd better go," Michonne says. "If she calls us again, it won't be pretty." She takes his hand and leads him into the kitchen.


	11. Chapter 11

**BLURRED LINES**

 **A/N:** I just want to say thank you to all of you who have stuck with me and this story. I am sorry I took so long with my last update and then had the nerve not to leave an author's note to thank all my wonderful readers. Sorry. I was just so excited to get that chapter up. I hope you all enjoy this next installment. Take care and thank you! 3

 **Chapter 11**

Rick spends the day watching the interactions between Michonne, Daryl, and their mom. He likes this family. It makes him miss his own, and at the same time, takes his mind off the fact that he's not with his children. It was hard to leave. On any other day, he wouldn't think twice about leaving his kids with his parents. His mom and dad spoil their grandchildren, but are stern when the need arises. Rick steps out back to call his family, talks to his mom, then dad, then talks the longest to Carl. The agents assigned to protect the kids are thorough and he really isn't worried, but he doesn't believe anyone can protect his kids like he can.

Later in the evening, Rick sits on the couch in Ophelia's living room. There is something on the television, but Rick isn't paying attention to it. Michonne brings him a beer, has one for herself. She sits in the chair across from him and looks at the TV for a few minutes. Rick looks at her. She must feel his eyes on her because she turns to him and smiles shyly.

"So…" Michonne begins, "still angry?"

Rick knows she isn't talking about his anger with the bikers. She means his anger with Shane and Lori. He sips his beer.

"I'm not angry…in the strictest sense of the word. It was hard to hold on to it and be what my kids needed me to be." He smiles and looks away from her. "My mom told me whenever I get those feelings, just talk to them." He glances at Michonne to see if she is looking at him like he's crazy, but she isn't. She's interested. "Go somewhere and tell Lori how you feel, momma told me. Walk off and give Shane a piece of your mind. At first I thought it was crazy, felt stupid, but then…talking to them, especially Lori helped me release a lot of feelings.

Michonne nods. "Makes total sense to me. Sometimes you just gotta talk to yourself. I still talk to my dad, especially when I'm sad. He's a great listener." She smiles, leans forward and pats his knee. "Come on, everyone will be here in a few."

Rick is extremely relieved he can tell Michonne this possibly embarrassing thing about himself. She is more intriguing with each passing moment. He tries not to stare at her in those tight jeans and that purple tank that accentuates her tiny waist. He fails…badly.

About twenty minutes later, Abraham shows with agent Williams, his fiancé. Agent Rhee arrives, followed by the other agent Williams, Tyresse. They all converge in the kitchen to discuss a plan. Rick sits at the table, in the seat closest to the kitchen entrance. Daryl sits across from him. Sasha takes the seat in between at the small square table. The rest stand. They all begin talking at once. It's because of that, that Rick is the only one to notice the new person to enter the room. He stands for Mrs. Ophelia, as he calls her. That's what gets the other's attention. It's not just her arrival that silences the room. It's her appearance. She's wearing a crimson dress that isn't exactly low cut, or tight, but you definitely understand that Ophelia Prescott has a great shape for a woman her age.

"Where the hell are you going?" Daryl asks.

Ophelia's eyebrows climb toward her hairline. "Who the _hell_ are you talking too?"

Rick stifles a laugh at Daryl's cowed look. It's plain to see he spoke without a single thought in his head.

"I'm going out," Ophelia says. "Not that it's any of your business."

Daryl looks confused. "But…you was gonna make a pot roast."

Ophelia narrows her eyes at her son. Rick decides to save the poor idiot before his mother can murder him in the kitchen.

"You look lovely, Ma'am," Rick says.

"Thank you," Ophelia says. "Sit, baby." She gestures for Rick to take his seat. "At least someone in this room has manners and is complementary to a woman who is clearly looking mighty fine this evening. My children sure aren't."

Michonne opens her mouth, but her mother cuts her off. "Save it, Chonnie."

Rick likes Michonne's nickname. It shows a playful side to her that he has only glimpsed. Mrs. Prescott leaves the kitchen, but before conversation can resume, she returns. She's not alone. A distinguished looking man stands alongside her. His salt and pepper hair is close-cut. His brown skin is smooth, but he carries himself like a man of age. Not old, Rick thinks, but he has lived. Rick likes that. He is the first to offer his hand to the man to shake.

"Who the hell is this?" Daryl says, on his feet again.

Ophelia's glare is enough to have Daryl mumble, "Sorry, Ma."

"Everyone, this is Byron. Byron, that"—glare still intact but voice sweet as sugar—"is my son, Daryl."

Byron smiles brightly even in the face of Daryl's scowl. "Good to finally meet you, young man. Your mama's told me all about you." Daryl doesn't answer. He looks like a wild animal, but the older man still approaches with his hand out. It's a hostile handshake, on Daryl's part, but Byron doesn't notice, or pretends not to notice.

"This is my daughter, Michonne."

Byron turns his attention to her. Michonne displays a full wattage smile. Rick can't look away. Her greeting is as gracious as Daryl's was hostile.

She tilts her head. "Byron Evan's right? I think we went to your birthday barbeque last summer."

"No, no. Solomon's my name and my birthday is in the wint—"

"No!" Ophelia cut in, but it's too late. Byron manages to say winter and January 12th before she can get him to stop talking. He looks at her like she's crazy. "Byron, would you be a dear and wait for me in the car? I won't be a minute."

"Sure, sure." He still looks as confused as Rick feels. "It was nice to meet you all."

When the sound of the front door opening and closing is heard, Ophelia rounds on Michonne. "Do not run a background check on him."

"Ma, I was just—"

"Chile, I have been your mother for thirty-six years. I know you and I know that trick of yours. Call him by the wrong last name so he'll give you the right one. Mention something about his birthday so he'll tell you that too. I'm not stupid, girl. If I find out you checked him out, I'm gonna slap the holy hell outta you. Hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Daryl!"

He jumps about a foot when she shouts his name. "Ma'am?"

"Get over here."

He walks like a man going to his hanging. When he gets over to her she grips his ear and pulls him down to her level. It looks like it hurts. Rick winces, rubs his own ear.

"You ever swear under my roof, in my presence again, I'll make sure you don't have a tongue to do so."

"Sorry, Ma," Daryl grunts, face getting redder the longer she twists his ear.

"You're forgiven, baby."

"Can…can you let me go now?"

"No. I'm not finished. Don't follow me tonight, Daryl. I mean it."

"Wasn't gonna."

"If I even catch a glimpse of a white boy on a motorcycle, I'm gonna come back here and bust your head wide open." She lets him go with a shove.

"That ain't fair." Daryl rubs his ear, looking like an over-grown toddler. "You know how many white boys ride in this city?"

"Then you better hope I'm having too much fun to notice."

It's all Rick can do not to laugh. Other's aren't that successful.

"You find something funny, Abraham?" Ophelia asks.

Abe chokes on his laugh, turns it into a cough.

"You need a lozenge?" she asks, dryly. Rick loves this woman.

"No, ma'am. I just want to say, I think the boy needs discipline."

Daryl flips Abe the finger behind his mother's back.

"You saying I haven't disciplined my child?"

Abe swallows. "No, ma'am. I was only—"

"Just stop talking," Sasha says to him.

"Listen to that woman, Abraham." Ophelia says, then turns to the group. "I made barbeque ribs, potato salad, coleslaw, mac and cheese, some deviled eggs and there's a pot of collards on the back burner. They're done, just simmering. Daryl," she says, looking at her son. "There's a pot roast in the slow cooker."

"Just for me?" he asks like a child presented with a large gift.

"Of course." Ophelia taps a finger to her cheek and Daryl plants a kiss there. "Ya'll be good." She waves, gets a kiss from Michonne, and is gone in a graceful flash.

When Rick hears the front door open and close, he says to Michonne, "You gonna run a check on him?"

"No. I promised that I wouldn't." She smiles.

"But I didn't," Abe says.

As they all settle in with plates of delicious food made with love, Rick says, "I have an idea."

 ***The Next Night***

Back in Union, Rick watches silently, or rather, speechlessly as Michonne descends the steps of their _new_ safe-house. Tonight, she's wearing a candy-apple red, patent leather corset with black leather pants. Her dreads are piled on top of her head in a messy bun with a few dangling around her face. She smiles and him and robs him of not only speech but thought. Because he is admiring the splendid picture in front of him, it takes a moment to realize, in addition to sheathing six knives on her person—only three visible—she also slips the katana on her back.

"Thought you got read the riot-act from your SSA about that."

Michonne grins. "After she reamed me out, she said I could wear it, you know, intimidation. Can't use it though."

"You can wear that and not use it?"

"My fingers were crossed when I made that promise." She chuckles as she opens the door and walks out.

Rick follows. "And I thought I was gonna get us in trouble."

"Better to ask for forgiveness than permission."

 ***At the Bar***

Rick throws open the door…loudly. Michonne at his six. He scans the bar, once, twice. Doesn't see who he's looking for.

"I'm lookin' for Negan."

Silence. Not just silence from no one answering, but—as he not so long ago heard Abraham say—it was so silent you could hear a mouse fart into a cotton ball deep down in the floorboards. The kind of silence that let you know you've said something important. _Negan_.

"You all deaf? We're looking for, Negan." Michonne says softly, almost conversationally. Rick likes that she doesn't have to scream or shout to get attention. Although that outfit is doing a lot of shouting on its own.

"Never heard of 'em," says a guy sitting at a corner table.

Rick narrows his focus on the baby-faced man. Instantly doesn't like him. "You gotta name?"

The guy stands. "Gareth. But this…Negan, did you say? Never heard of him, so whoever told you he was here, lied to you."

Rick walks closer, invades Gareth's space. He can hear Michonne on the move, watching the door and keeping an eye on his back. The team is outside as well. Hiding, some in plain sight, some well camouflaged.

"Got the name off a dead man's lips," Rick says, leaning into Gareth's face. "And you know what they say about dead men…they tell no lies." He sees something flicker in Gareth's eyes. Fear? Interests? Excitement? He doesn't know, but stares the younger man down until Gareth looks away.

Rick takes one final look around the bar. Meet's the blonde bartender's eyes. "You tell Negan Rick and Michonne are lookin' for him. Don't keep us waiting."

Her mouth fishes for a second. She's too shocked, too frightened or too… _turned on_ to deny Negan's existence so she just nods with her mouth still open. Rick reaches out a hand and doesn't have to look to know Michonne will take it. They walk out the bar without looking back. They repeat this scene at the diner where they've been told Negan has been spotted. Again, at a poolhall and lastly at a similar bar on the other side of town. Negan is nowhere to be found. This time, when Rick and Michonne head home, they take extra precautions not to be followed. Rick's plan, is simple. He has had it with the subterfuge. It's why he used Michonne's real name. He's done playing games. If it was Negan and not just an extended subsection of Joe's inner gang that killed Shane and Lori, Rick wants this over with now.

 **A/N:** I know this is a short chapter…please don't kill me. The next part will be longer…baybe really long. I'm not sure yet. And I knew if I didn't post this now, I wouldn't post until after Christmas. I'll be writing over the holidays. I promise! I plan to have chapter 12 written and up soon after. But I gots me some cookin' to do right about now.

Oh and speaking of cooking... when I was listing all the food Ophelia cooked, I wanted so badly to write" I got beans, greens, potatoes, tomatoes, lambs, rams, chickens turkeys…you name it! Okay. I'm in a silly mood. Hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Please leave a review! I love reading them


	12. Chapter 12

**BLURRED LINES**

 **AN: I cannot express how sorry I am for the long wait between chapters. Real life took over, robbed me of my muse and just now gave me some peace, so I am taking advantage and writing as much as possible while the time, energy and words are here. This chapter was done, but I simply couldn't post it until I knew I had at least half of chapter 13 written. I don't want to have such a long break between stories again. Thank you to all the readers and reviewers. Thank you for not abandoning me or this story. I will never abandon you. I promise!**

 **Chapter 12**

Three weeks pass and nothing. No Negan. No leads. Nothing. It's like he disappeared off the face of the earth. Michonne steps out into the backyard and calls Supervisory Special Agent Monroe.

"Ma'am, this investigation is dead."

"Give it a few more weeks."

Michonne pinches the bridge of her nose. She needs to get out of here sooner rather than later.

"Agent?"

"I'm here," Michonne says. "I just don't see any point in continuing. It's dead. I really recommend shutting down, regrouping and starting in with a new team in a few months."

"I disagree. I think—"

"With all due respect, ma'am. I am the field agent. You sent me because you trust my judgment. If I say it's dead, it's dead."

"Agent Prescott, _with all due respect_ , you are not the only agent there. Agent Ford seems to think another few weeks wouldn't hurt."

Michonne paces the yard. "I am lead agent, am I not?"

SSA Monroe can be heard taking a deep breath and letting it out. "Agent…Michonne,"—her voice softens to a tone that makes Michonne grind her teeth. "I can appreciate why you want to be done with this investigation soon, but it's been three years. Eventually, you'll have to work during that time. I know it's hard, but—"

"Fine. I'll give it three more weeks and that's it. Send someone else down here if you aren't happy with my decision." She ends the call, unable to hear that pity in her boss' voice any longer.

***###***

Rick watches as Michonne enters the house from the backyard. He knows she was just on the phone with her supervisor. From the expression on her face, Michonne didn't hear what she wanted to hear. The thing is, Rick has no clue what she wants to hear. Over the past week, she has become distant, closed off and at times hostile. It feels reminiscent of his last few years with Lori. Everything he says or does seems to grate on her nerves. The difference between how it was with Lori and how it is with Michonne is he knew he was the problem with Lori. Or at least, she made it seem so. With Michonne, it feels very much like what is going on with her right now has nothing to do with him.

She says nothing to him as she spreads out a map on the kitchen table and starts marking off areas where they haven't looked for Negan.

"Want some help with that?" he asks.

"No."

"You okay?"

"Yes."

He snorts humorlessly. "Yeah, you seem great."

Michonne looks up from the map and glares at him. "Just because I'm not in the mood to talk doesn't mean anything is wrong with me. I don't need you breathing down my neck either."

"Oh, is that what I'm doing? I forgot, you can handle everything, right? I might not be FBI, and I might not be sheriff anymore, but I'm not and idiot either. I know how to track people, but have it your way." He begins backing out of the kitchen. "I'll leave you be. When you need me to shoot somebody or make a scene in a bar, give me a holler."

"Rick, I didn't mean—"

"Forget it. I'll catch you later."

"Where are you going?" she asks to his retreating form.

"Why do you care?"

He grabs his keys, opens the door and slams it shut. Rick is so irritated with her, and yet, he can't miss the irony of the situation. This is the exact thing Lori used to get frustrated with him about. _Talk!_ Something is bothering Michonne, he knows it, feels it, but she won't _talk_ to him. Logically, he knows it's been less than two months that they've known each other, but it feels longer. The connection to her was so instant it scared him. So, in his mind, he feels like she should be comfortable enough to open up to him. Obviously, those feelings are one-sided.

Before Rick fully understands where he is going, he's on the road to Atlanta. It isn't until he parks in front of Michonne's mom's house does he realize he is still seeking answers about her. When he knocks on the door, Daryl answers. He doesn't want to talk to him. Mrs. Ophelia seems a better option to get to the heart of what might be troubling Michonne. But when Daryl informs Rick that Mrs. Ophelia is at a church meeting and could be at that shit all night—his words—Rick is left with one option, talking to Daryl.

"Why you wanna see my mama?" Daryl asks as he leads Rick into the kitchen. He hands Rick a beer. The two men head out to the backyard and sit in rocking chairs on the long porch. The sun is just about setting, casting orange and gold streaks across the sky.

"Michonne is…" Rick begins, but doesn't really know what or how to say what the problem is. He certainly can't tell her unhinged brother that Michonne isn't smiling at him anymore, or flirting with him like she had been. He damn sure can't say that she hasn't let him kiss her since the night Joe and his assholes came to the house. Those are all symptoms. Something larger is going on.

"Michonne is what?" Daryl asks. "I know she ain't hurt. You way too calm for that. So, what's up?"

"I don't know. I think she's depressed."

"Depressed?" Daryl looks confused for a second, then his eyes cast upward in thought and then they close. "Fuck," he whispers.

"What?" Rick leans forward. "You know what it is. You know what's wrong with her."

"Yeah, I do."

"Tell me!"

Daryl shakes his head. "Can't. Ain't my story to tell."

"Aw this bullshit again." Rick stands, walks to the railing and leans against it. "You and your sister with this, 'his story to tell, her story to tell' shit. I'm done with it."

"That's how it is with us." Daryl shrugs. "What you ask her 'bout me that she said was my business to tell?"

Rick needs a moment to let go of his annoyance. "I asked about your real parents."

Daryl puffs out a breath. "She coulda told you that. The egg and sperm that made me took turns beating the living shit outta me, that is, when they actually remembered I was a live and needed food and shit. Then, when I was five, the sperm donor beat me so bad I ended up in the hospital. I was taken from them, put in foster care. Like, I went from bad to worse. At least with the egg and sperm, when they forgot about me, my brother would go out and steal shit. Or I'd run off and eat from the dumpster, you know. I was free. But them foster homes, them assholes never forgot you. Figure, Chonnie told how we met."

Rick nods.

Daryl is silent for a long while, as if he's thinking about that time. He shakes his head. "Til this day I don't know what's wrong with my mama. She took one look at me and fell in love. Who does that?"

Rick knows the question is rhetorical, but he answers anyway. "A mother."

Daryl shakes his head. "Not all of'em. She saw something behind all my dirt and anger and loved me anyway. And I gave her hell. I hated that she was nice to me. Hated that she treated me just like she treated Michonne. And I looked for it too, favoritism. Wasn't none. I got in fights at school, in the neighborhood. Needed to prove to her early on that I wasn't loveable, that she would eventually hate me too. Everybody else did. Then finally, when she had to leave work three times in one week to come up to the school for me, I knew that was it. I'd done it and she was gonna toss me out like everybody else. It's crazy, I was happy, or at least, that's what I thought I felt. But it ain't happiness, or real happiness anyway, it's that feeling you get when you right, even if you right bout some real fucked up shit. So, I was right, or so I thought. She walked into the principal's office and I could see right away that today was different. She looked like she'd been crying. Then I heard the secretary asking her if she was okay. Ma' whispered, but I heard her, that she'd been fired for leaving work too much. Boss told her if she leave one more time, she was done. She left anyway.

Rick watches Daryl, sees him in deep thought as he relives what seems to be the turning point in his life.

"Heard the secretary tell Ma' to send me back, that I ain't worth the trouble. If Ma' answered her, I ain't hear what she said. Here's the thing though, Ma' turned, knelt in front of me and put her hands on either side of my face. She looked me in the eyes and said, 'No matter how many fights you get in, no matter how many times you get suspended, or kicked outta school, no matter how many jobs I lose because of you, I'm still gonna love you. Ain't nothin' you can do about it.'"

Daryl sits quietly, unable to speak or he has nothing left to say. Rick leaves Daryl to his silence since he has nothing to say either. They finish their beers then Daryl clears his throat.

"I'm not sure why my sister thought talkin' bout _those people_ would be somethin' I needed to tell you myself. Figure she more traumatized by my childhood than I am." He stands. "My life started the day Ophelia Prescott found me asleep behind her house. I let your "real parents" comment slide cause I know you ain't mean nothin' by it. But I only ever had, and ever will have, one real mother."

"Sorry."

Daryl waves him off. "Told you, I let it slide."

A noise behind them, reveals Ophelia at the backdoor. She wears a modest peach-colored sundress and a matching hat. It's a good color on her. She smiles at Rick as she steps out onto the porch, arms open for a hug.

"It's good to see you." She kisses his cheek. "Where's Chonnie?"

"Oh, I came alone. She's back at the house."

"I see," she answers pleasantly, but Rick feels as if she has sliced into his brain and extracted all the anxiety, confusion and worry he has had over the past week. "Daryl."

"Ma'am?"

"Go set a pot of water to boil."

Daryl gets up. "Big pot?"

"That depends. How much potato salad do you want?"

"Big pot." He heads into the house, then calls out to her from inside the kitchen. "Salt the water?"

"Yes."

"How many potatoes?"

She sighs. "All of them, boy."

"What else you makin'? Is it barbeque chicken? Can we have sweet corn too? And green beans? I would murder somebody for some of your biscuits. Please tell me you makin' some of those too?"

"Ask me one more question, Daryl. I dare you."

Quiet laughter from the house.

"That boy gets such a thrill outta bringing me close to choking him."

Rick smiles. "It's how he knows you still care."

Ophelia nods. She knows this already, Rick can see. Sometimes she probably takes for granted that her love for her son is constant, unconditional and 100-proof, whereas Daryl still has moments of wondering why she would love him in the first place, least of all, still love him.

"What brings you by, Rick? I know Michonne is okay. You're far too calm to have bad news." She gestures for him to head down the porch steps and out into the backyard. It's a classic American looking home. A garden surrounds the white picket fence. Roses, hydrangeas and azalea bushes bloom in bright reds, blues and pinks. Further down toward the back of the yard, cucumbers, melons, squash and tomatoes grow. This reminds Rick of his childhood home.

"No, bad news, ma'am. Just needed to talk."

"Uh huh."

"I don't want to keep you from your cooking. I need to head back home."

"And I'm still not allowed to know where that home is, right?"

"Sorry, ma'am. It's…it's not safe, just yet. But I think this should be over soon, one way or another. And I'll be outta your hair." He tries to smile, make it a joke, but the thought of not seeing Michonne anymore, or her family, fills him with such a profound sadness that the half-smile drops from his face.

Ophelia takes his hand. "Rick. I…my daughter isn't herself at the moment, is she?"

Rick swallows. "No, she isn't."

"It's not you."

"Figured as much."

"She'll talk to you," Ophelia says.

"You think so, cause she hasn't yet."

"Give her time. Give her what she needs. I know my child. She'll open up to you. You're just that kind of person, Rick. People want to tell you things." She pats his cheek.

He gives her a more genuine smile this time. "I did have quite a few people confess crimes to me back in my sheriff days."

"I believe it." She loops her arm through his and they walk around the side of the house to the front. "Go'on back home, now. Talk to my daughter. She probably wants to talk to you, but just can't yet. Be patient."

"I can do that."

"Good." She rises on her toes and Rick bends to place a kiss on her cheek. "Text me, let me know you made it in safely."

He nearly laughs, until he sees that she is serious. This must be what Carl feels like. On the ride home, Rick decides to let Michonne take the lead. Whatever she needs to right herself, to feel comfortable enough to talk to him about what's troubling her, he will do it.

***##***

It's a long ride back to the house. Rick has plenty of time to think of Michonne and her change in mood. He looks at the clock and realizes it's time for his nightly call to his kids. Judith's summertime bedtime is 8pm. He's seven minutes late.

"He-yo?" Rick smiles at her y-sounding L's. "Hi Daddy!" She answers the phone like someone who pays bills in that house.

"Hey sweetheart, how was—"

"What you doin'?

He forgot, she has to know what he's doing before anything else gets discussed.

"I'm driving. What are you doing?"

"Ummm, I'm talking to my daddy."

Rick laughs. "Yes, you are. Did you have a fun day?"

"Yeah. I yike popcorn. It's de-yicious!"

"Yeah, it is. Where'd you get—"

"Bye-bye Daddy. It's night-night time. Carl say so. Gama and Pop-Pop too."

"Okay. Sweet dreams. I love you."

"Yove you too.

"Hey dad." Carl has the phone now. "How's it going?"

Rick signs. He misses his kids so much. "It's going. I think it'll be done soon. Or at least my part in this mess."

"Good. I love Grandma and Pops, but I wanna come home."

"Soon. I promise."

Rick ends the call just as he pulls up at the house. He shoots a text to Mrs. Ophelia from his other cell and gets a quick reply back. Down the road is a non-descript van. He's sure Abraham is inside, keeping watch. He can almost feel the other agents around, keeping out of view. As he walks up the walkway to the small house, Rick mentally prepares for tonight. He doesn't know what the plan is, but he assumes it will be much of the same. Hit a few bars, places Negan has been rumored to frequent. Rinse and repeat.

When he opens the door, he is surprised to find the lights dim and music playing. Diana Ross, Love Hangover. He's momentarily confused. His dad loves Diana Ross—a source of endless amusement in his family—and so he is flooded with memories of his childhood. He closes the door and watches Michonne, over by the fireplace. Candles glow in the hearth. She has a drink in her hand, her eyes are closed and she is swaying to the music. He doesn't want to disturb her, but she looks so sad and at the same time, incredibly beautiful. She sees him before he can back out of the room. She smiles at him, turns down the music a little.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long," he says and moves closer to her. "You okay?"

She nods, but she doesn't look okay to him. "I just want to turn off my brain." She sits the drink on the mantle and places both her hands on Rick's chest. She slides them up and around his neck.

Rick catches her by the wrists before she can slide her fingers into his hair. "Michonne." He squints at her. "We can't…you've been drinking and—"

She steps closer to him, her body flush against his. She blows a soft stream of air in his face. "Smell any liquor? I haven't had anything to drink. I poured it, but I really hate whisky."

Rick stares into Michonne's eyes for a long moment. Then he lets her wrists go. Her fingers slide into his hair, causing his eyes to roll for a split second. He reaches behind her, picks up the glass of whisky and tastes it. The drink is watery, but cold. She must've had ice cubes in it and the drink sat so long untouched the cubes melted. Michonne may not need or want the whisky, but her hands in his hair and her body against his…Rick downs the watery drink in one gulp.

He knows what she wants, but he can't…not like this. "Michonne…we can't. You're not yourself. Tell me what's been going on with you and—"

"I haven't been with a man in more than three years."

That effectively broke his brain. How? Are the men around her blind, bumbling fools? She was in his orbit for twenty minutes and it was all he could do not to kiss her senseless.

"I want to be with you, Rick. Now."

He swallows. "You…there's something going on with you, right now. It—"

"Yeah, there is and I don't want to think about it. I don't want to talk about it. For once, I want this night to pass where I am feeling good and my thoughts are numb. I want you. Tonight only. Right here. Right now. Later…I'll tell you everything."

It takes a second for Rick's lust-fogged mind to catch up. "Tonight only?" He shakes his head. "Why only tonight?"

"That's all I've got to give, Rick. I'll tell you everything later and you'll understand that it has to be this way. But tonight…" She rises on her toes and gently presses her lips to his, lingers.

Rick is even more concerned by this "tonight only" business, but the longer her lips gently caress his own, he begins to tell himself, that he'll take what he can get from her. That's how starved he is for her affection. But the instant he kisses her, really kisses her, he knows it's a lie. He will never be satisfied with just one night with her. As the kiss deepens, he ignores that feeling in his gut that tells him he is making the biggest mistake of his life. She has the power to break his heart into a million tiny pieces. Rick quiets that voice in his head that says 'she will never be yours, you are not enough for her' he simply closes his eyes and dives off the cliff, head first.

 **A/N: Hope you all enjoyed this! I promise the next installment will be coming a lot sooner than this one. Please leave a review and tell me what you think. Thank you !**


	13. Chapter 13

**BLURRED LINES**

 **A/N: Again, I have to thank all the fans, readers and reviewers of this story. I really appreciate all your love! I read every last review as it comes in, please know that. I am enjoying this story and have a few one-shots in my brain as well. Hope you all enjoy...oh, and, anyone who doesn't like 3 and a half solid pages of sex might want to skip this chapter! :-o**

 **Chapter 13**

Rick doesn't quite know how he got on the floor, back against the sofa, shirt off and Michonne straddling him, but he doesn't really care. He's still dressed from the waist down, Michonne's still in her pink bra and black leggings. They've been kissing and touching and nothing more, yet he already knows this is going to be the best sex of his life. He breaks the kiss and moves his mouth to her neck. She moans, arches into him. She's so receptive to his touch and it drives him wild. It's been years since he's felt that a woman genuinely wants to be with him and not simply going through the motions. He can barely contain himself.

His fingers make quick work of unhooking her bra. It gets tossed to the side. Rick pulls back and looks at her. She regards him, head to the side, eyes sparkling, small smile.

"What?" she whispers.

"You're beautiful."

She dips her head, shyly and whispers thank you. Rick hugs her to him, drops kisses on her shoulder. His heart begins to pound in his chest. He loves her already. _Shit_ , he really does. Something tells him what she's keeping from him is big and will affect the two of them being together. But again, he silences those warning voices. He lays her down on the floor between the sofa and the coffee table. It's a dark little nook that feels like it's just for them. The carpet is thick, but still not as comfortable as a bed. Rick doesn't care.

Michonne's fingers slip into his hair. She pulls his face to hers and kisses him. Her tongue is warm and seeking. Rick feels it right in his groin. He sucks her bottom lip into his mouth, slides a hand up her side and cups one of her breasts. He is rewarded with a soft moan from her that fills his mouth, makes him kiss her deeper.

Rick dips his head and sucks the tip of her left breast, flicks his tongue slowly around the nipple. Michonne's moan deepens. He gives attention to the right breast, filling his mouth with as much as he can. His hand trails down her body, over her small waist, the curve of her hip and between her lean thighs. He cups her warm center, presses the heel of his palm there and rubs it gently, up and down. Michonne thrusts to match Rick's hand movements. He's so ready for this, for her. He feels the heat around his face, neck and chest. He knows he's red, but he doesn't care.

He wriggles his fingers beneath the waist band of her leggings and into her underwear. She is warm and wet and ready for him. Rick kisses her and at the same time, slips a finger inside of her, then two. Michonne breaks the kiss, breathless, moaning. She grips his wrist, keeps his hand where it is, between her legs, fingers deep inside her, thumb rubbing her hypersensitive clitoris. She grinds with his hand movements. He watches her, mesmerized by her fluttering eyes, her partially opened mouth, and the rise and fall of her beautiful breasts.

Her thighs clench around his hand just as he feels her vaginal muscles constrict and then quiver into a silent, breathless orgasm. He could watch that every day of his life, several times a day. Rick gently kisses her lips, throat and breasts as she catches her breath and comes down from her orgasm. He hadn't meant to do that. Past experience has him worried that she will be a one and done. He would hate it if she took pity on him and let him have sex with her when she wasn't really into it anymore because she has already been satisfied.

Slowly, he removes his fingers from inside her. He doesn't rush, but he doesn't waste any time getting into position to remove her leggings. Michonne lifts her hips to assist Rick as he peels her leggings down her body. They get tossed somewhere in the room. Her pink bikini panties cause him to stop and take in the picture before him. Michonne's dark smooth skin is highlighted by the soft color. Her kiss swollen breasts sit up firmly, with taut nipples. Her hair is spread out round her head and her hands rest demurely over her tight abs.

With a smile, she reaches for him. Rick leans over and kisses her softly, reverently. He pulls back and slowly slips her panties down her legs. Michonne opens for him. One leg on either side of Rick so he is now in between them on his knees, looking down at her. She sits up, eyes still locked with his. She unbuttons his jeans, slides down the zipper, frees his erection.

Rick closes his eyes as she strokes him. Her slim hands are warm and soft. A moan slips from his lips as her tongue runs up the shaft, circles the rim. She sucks the tip of his penis into her mouth, twirls her tongue in a way that makes Rick grunt and grip her shoulders. Michonne takes him fully into her mouth, and begins a slow, methodic rhythm of sucking him. It's been so long, and she's good. She doesn't suck him like it's a means to an end, like she's just trying to get it over with. She enjoys this. He can't take his eyes off her. He touches her face, the back of her neck, her shoulders, wherever he can. Her hands slide up his chest, caressing. Rick takes one, brings his mouth to the palm and kisses it. Suddenly, he sees it. This, just like this. Their home, love and making love in any room they want. He wants that so badly.

Michonne pulls back, strokes his slick cock with her hands…a sliding, twisting motion that takes him by surprise. It feels so good he doesn't recognize how close he is until his body jerks and he is spilling all over Michonne's hands.

"Shit," is all he can say as his penis continues to spurt onto Michonne's chest. She doesn't loosen her grip until he is spent. Rick sits back on his haunches, jeans still around his hips and a mess in his lap. Michonne rises, kisses his lips then cleans herself off with Rick's t-shirt.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I feel like a teenager. It's…it's been a while since…"

"I know." She touches his face. "For me too. But there's nothing wrong with feeling like a teenager, is there? Means you'll be ready to go again soon."

Rick's brows raise. "You aren't done?"

"Are you?"

"No! I mean…I just thought, you know, because you already…and women usually have just one…"

"I'm not even going to ask where you got that ridiculous notion." She leans forward and kisses him. "I can have as many as you can give me," she whispers against his lips and he feels his penis coming back to life.

"Good." His tongue is in her mouth now and he eases her back to the floor.

Rick wriggles out of his jeans, kicking them off his legs as he kisses down Michonne's body. He traces her navel with his tongue, dips lower to her hip bones and then kisses his way to her warm center. He slips his tongue between her slick folds and gently sucks her clitoris. Michonne rolls her hips, moans, grips Ricks hair. He works her sex with his mouth, loving, licking and sucking her into a frenzy. The more she writhes, the harder his cock gets.

He shoves the coffee table out of the way. It slides across the floor and bangs against the hearth. Rick rolls over on his back, pulls Michonne with him so she is now straddling his face. He grips her hips, pulls her hot center to his mouth and goes to work. Michonne tips forward, her hands land on the floor, palms down, head thrown back. Rick has two handfuls of her ass. He squeezes as he sucks her into submission. He thinks she is close to coming again, but before she does, she lifts her hips and scoots down his body. With ease, Michonne slowly fills herself with Rick's thick erection.

For an instant, they simply stare at each other, mouths slightly open, eyes wide. Rick is certain their thoughts are united. One night will never be enough. And then she starts moving. Just a slow circle of her hips that makes Rick's breath hitch and his eyes roll in his head. He starts to meet her movements with his own, controlling the rhythm. His hands close around her waist, almost meeting. She tosses her head back, arches and grinds him like a cowgirl on a wild horse.

Rick can feel his orgasm building, feel the blood draining from every other part of his body, heading straight for his cock. He rolls Michonne over, seats himself deeply inside her and pumps with all he has. Her legs are wide. Rick grips them right under her knees, holds them open. They stare at each other. Mouth to mouth. Nose to nose. Michonne's orgasm hits her in waves that makes her pelvis jerk and a high-pitched keening to explode from her throat. Rick erupts so violently that he can't move. Muscles lock, breathing arrests. He is all but paralyzed as he empties into her warmth. His ejaculation is so intense, he gets an instant headache.

Slowly, his muscles begin to relax. He can breathe again, but he doesn't move. He can't move. He's relieved when Michonne wraps her arms and legs around him. She doesn't want him to move. So, he stays there, on top of her, inside of her, trying to regulate his breathing and the pounding in his head. This is it for him. He knows now without a doubt that he will never want any other woman. It both excites him and terrifies him. She has all the power. He has given away his heart and power before and it nearly killed him. What he felt then was merely a fraction to what he feels now. Michonne has the power to completely level him. Before he can allow that realization to totally mind-fuck him, Rick slips into a deep sleep.

Later that night, he wakens to the warm softness of Michonne's body nestled close to him. They lay under a throw blanket and he is spooned up behind her. He wakes her with kisses to her shoulder and a hand gently caressing her breast. She arches with a yawn, pressing her backside into his growing erection.

"What are you doing?"

He can hear the smile in her voice so he whispers. "You said tonight only. The night's not over."

"It isn't, is it."

"Nope."

They laugh softly as Rick enters her from behind.

 ****The next morning****

Michonne leaves Rick asleep in the bed. Sometime during the night, they made it upstairs, into bed and had each other several more times. God, the man was insatiable, but they match. She wanted him last night just as much as he wanted her. Every time. What has she done? She should have never touched him. She can't be what he needs, what he deserves. Last night was the epitome of selfishness on her part.

She hurries down the steps, shame chasing her out the front door. She wishes she could hop in her car, drive away and never look back, but she can't. This case…she has to see it through. So for right now, she can delay seeing Rick. Put off the inevitable talk he's going to want to have with her. The questions. The confusion. She hopes he doesn't plead. She may not be able to resist Rick pleading with her. But she can't be with him. She can't do that to him or his beautiful kids who have already been through enough.

As soon as she gets in her car—a clunker they bought in town so she wouldn't need to ride with Rick all the time—her phone rings. It's Abraham, wanting to Face-Time with her. He's down the block in a black van, keeping watch.

"Morning, sunshine!" Abe says, grinning at her from the screen.

"Mornin'."

"Rough night?"

She looks away from the screen. "I'm fine. What's up?"

"Quick question. Do you know what happens when red and blue mix?"

Michonne squints at the screen. "What?"

"Indulge me. What happens when red and blue mix."

"They turn purple," Michonne answers at the edge of her patience. She doesn't know where he's going with this, but she isn't in the mood.

"Exactly! You get purple. So yesterday, I'm just sitting here in this van, monitoring all things on my computer. I track Rick's red GPS dot from Atlanta all the way back here where your blue dot is waiting in the house."

Michonne closes her eyes. She knows where this is going now.

"Imagine my surprise when Rick's red dot gets closer to your blue dot, so close the dots become one purple dot. Do you know how close you have to be to someone for their tracking dot to merge and become one entirely new color? I mean, you damn near gotta be inside that person, Siamese twins, practically, joined at the…genitals maybe?"

Michonne lets out a long sigh. "What is your point, Abe?"

"You two purpled. You two purpled the hell outta each other all fucking night! What are you doing, Michonne?"

"I'm minding my business. You should try it."

"That man just lost his wife. Whether they were on their way to divorce or not, he has the power to hurt you. Hurt you bad. Then I'm gonna have to hurt him. Course, I'm gonna have to get in line behind Daryl and your mama. My point is, I like him. He's a good guy, but I'll kill him dead if he so much as raises his voice to you. I don't want to have to do that, so you need to make sure your eyes are wide open with this, with him."

"You don't have to worry about that, Abe. He's not the problem. I am."

Abraham scrubs a hand over his beard, looks into the phone with mournful eyes. "Listen darlin', I know what last night was. I'd planned to talk to you, come keep you company, but well, you had company."

"I didn't need to talk last night. I needed…I needed to shut out the noise."

"You gotta let somebody in."

"Abe, please. I don't want to talk about this right now. I woke up this morning for the first time in three years without what happened being my first thought. Now, I'm thinking about it." A tear slips down her cheek."

"Aw hell, I'm sorry. Don't cry."

She hears his car door open, sees him move on screen. "Abraham Ford, if you even think about getting out of that van and coming to my car I will shoot you in the foot."

"Okay, okay…I'm staying put. But don't tell Sasha I made you cry. She'll kick my ass."

Michonne smiles, wipes away her tear and puts her car in gear. "I'm gonna go now. I need to get breakfast." She ends the call before for Abe has a chance to say more or to see just how hard she is crying as she pulls away from the curb.

Back at the house, Michonne prepares what she is going to say to Rick. She has gotten out all of her tears and is now ready for any question, any argument he may have as to why they should let last night turn into more than just that.

She finds him in the kitchen, dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt. He's just about to start a pot of coffee when he turns and sees her enter.

"Hey," he says, a small smile on his lips.

"Hey. I ran out to get coffee and bagels. Didn't want to wake you."

"Great. Thanks." He opens the bag and inhales. "These smell great. I'm starved."

She wants to say, 'You worked up an appetite last night,' but she doesn't want to mention what happened until he does. Instead, she smiles and watches him bite into a plain bagel then slurp some coffee. Michonne has a hard time not touching him. She has to grip the back of the kitchen chair to keep from reaching out to him. His hair is damp from his shower. The t-shirt hugs his lean torso and his eyes look extra blue this morning. She wants to sink into his arms, lay her head on his chest and forget about all the pain, all the work, and just be with him.

"Listen," Rick begins, "I was thinking…"

Here we go, Michonne thinks and gets her guard up.

"We've got a long ride to check out this other place Daryl remembers Negan hanging out, I'm gonna take the bike, you go in the car. It's probably best to have two means of transportation."

Michonne's mouth hangs open for a moment. That's not what she thought he'd say so she has to readjust her brain.

"Um…yeah, okay."

"Good." He passes her, about to leave the kitchen.

"So…" Michonne turns. "You don't want to talk about last night?" She hates herself for asking, but she has to.

Rick stops, doesn't turn around but looks at her over his shoulder. "You said one night, you couldn't give more. I have to respect that. So I will…I am." He continues walking, right out the front door.

It takes everything Michonne has in her not to burst into tears. She grabs the bag of bagels, grabs her coffee cup, with a shaking hand, and follows Rick out the front door.


End file.
